


Weltschmerz

by Alopex (orphan_account), andouilles (orphan_account)



Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Depression, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Masturbation, NSFW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 17:26:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2660327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Alopex, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/andouilles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The winds of fate do intertwine,</i><br/><i>They rise, they fall twixt branch of pine,</i><br/><i>Through winter's woods they carry rhyme,</i><br/><i>And into darkness they decline.</i><br/> <a href="http://statcounter.com/"></a><br/><img/><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lilac

10:30 AM. It’s the first day of October. It is a gorgeous, cloudless autumn morning. The sun was shining brightly, not a single cloud was in sight. A cool breeze is softly brushing through the pine trees that surrounded the small sleepy town. What can only be described as a perfect day graces the city of Gravity Falls.  
  
And Dipper Pines _is not having it._  
  
As the sun beams through his  window he scrunches up his nose in disgust, getting up out of bed only to close the curtains. Immediately he returns to his bed with a face-first plop onto his pillow. He knew he needed to get up, but honestly, his head was pounding and the _last thing_ he needed was to be woken abruptly by the intrusive sun.  
  
Pulling himself out of bed had become _at least_ an hour-long process lately. Despite wanting to sleep all day, he knew that he had to resist the urge to just wither away like some sad, dying flower. There were stories to write – that was what kept him going, after all.  
  
So with an irritated grumble he finally stumbles out of bed, a blanket draped around his shoulders as he drags his feet to the bathroom. Dipper doesn’t bother with a shower; there wasn’t any time for that. As Dipper begins to brush his teeth, he looks at himself in the mirror _once_ and instantaneously looks away.  
  
Yeesh, he was sort of a mess, wasn’t he?  
  
Weeks ago he lost the only comb he owned and he had never bothered to replace it. As a result his hair was, to put kindly, _a work of art_. Luckily, he didn’t usually care about what others thought of him. Scratching the scruff around his chin, he considers  shaving but decides it would take far too much time (just like the shower).  
  
If he didn’t get dressed and out of the house soon he would _never_ leave – he knew this from experience.

Auburn leaves crunch beneath his shoes as Dipper walks to the cafe he frequented.  A brisk breeze brushes up against his face and he shivers involuntarily. With his messenger bag hauled over his shoulder, he adjusts the heavy sack with a huff and opens the door to the small coffee shop. As usual he sets up camp at whichever table was closest and unoccupied.

When Dipper pulls out his laptop from his bag a barrage of loose papers and notebooks follow. He had a terrible habit of writing on whatever paper he could find and that resulted in, well, _a lot_ of clutter. Hell, he had even gone as far as to buy waterproof notepads in case he ever found himself needing to write in the rain or _the shower_. Not that he took showers very often, but whenever he  bathed he didn’t want to be caught without something to write on, that was for sure!

Once his workspace _(if it could even be called that)_ was set  up he walks up to the counter and orders a coffee. Just a plain coffee – _black_. And despite ordering the same thing every time he came into the store, he still glances up at the chalkboard menu, as if contemplating ordering something different _for once_.

Oh well, he was a creature of habit. The plain coffee would do.

* * *

  
Over eight hundred and fifty miles away, a gangly man stands on the edge of a crosswalk, clutching at the strap of his messenger bag. Car after car zooms past, a gust of warm wind following each vehicle. Behind him, a sprawling clematis covers an entire ten yards of fence. Curiously, he watches the fallen petals dance around his feet, far more entertaining than watching the road as he waits for the light to change. He pulls out a small moleskine from the outside pocket of his bag, quickly jotting down the scene just in case he was ever to use it in one of his stories. Before putting it back, he flips to the front cover, where a hasty note was scribbled in.

 _For Wirt:_   
_Thanks for being the best brother I could ever ask for!_   
_Fill this up with lots of awesome words for me.  
__\- Greg_

Wirt allowed himself a small smile. He missed his family far too much, but finding work was something that required him to make more sacrifices than he’d like. He was incredibly lucky to be writing for a magazine that was read quite widely, and if it meant giving up the small-town life to reside in this hectic urban jungle, then so be it. In all honesty, he shouldn’t be complaining; this was a sleepy neighborhood, with clean little houses and quiet families. He could have ended up in the grimy heart of Los Angeles itself.

A car slowed down to turn, and Wirt noted a strange sticker on its bumper. “What is the Mystery Shack?” he whispered the words aloud to himself, chuckling. He’d seen those before, but he had no idea where or what this Mystery Shack was. It seemed like something out of a fairy tale, if he was just to judge by the name.

As the light changed, he gave one last glance at the flowering fence. If there was one thing the town _could_ improve upon, it would have to be the  parks. He longed for the woods behind his childhood home, filled with the twittering songs of bluebirds and hidden clearings.

He craved the magic of that other world, whatever it was.

Ever since his incident, for lack of a better word, he strove to illustrate the surrealism and wonders of The Unknown in his works. Thankfully, it was a popular theme among his readers, and his editor often begged him to push his bounds. As of late, however, he wasn’t sure he could keep doing that, and he was getting worried about his job security. What could he do? The dusty city drained him of his inspiration.

\--

“Wait - are you serious?”

“I sure am,” his editor replied, gleefully watching the young man’s grin spread across his face. “Look, I can see you withering away with each passing day. You can’t write your stories here. Now, I know company policy is to hire local writers, but you’ve been producing steady content for over two years. As long as you send us your work every few weeks, I think we can make an exception for you."

“That sounds perfect! Where am I traveling?”

“Anywhere you wish, as long as you stick to the states. You wouldn’t happen to have a place in mind yet, would you?”

Wirt thought for a few moments, then recalled the odd bumper sticker from earlier. A smile graced his lips. “Yeah, I think so.”

\--

He thanked the woman graciously after discussing and researching the travel details. By tonight, he would arrive in a small town called Gravity Falls, located in the center of Oregon, and he could hardly contain his excitement. Such a change, and so quickly! He hadn’t felt this enthusiastic about anything for _months_. He practically sprinted home to pack his bags and head out to the airport, ready to settle into the place he would call home for the next three months.

* * *

  
11:30 AM. Dipper’s work day begins. It starts out with the usual: transferring whatever he had written on paper to the computer. It should have been the easiest part of the day, but it usually ended up with Dipper quite literally scratching his head at some of the things he had written. Maybe it was due to the fact that a lot of his loose sheets of crumpled paper had illegible drunk  ramblings scrawled all over them. Squinting at one particular paper he shakes his head and sneers, he was ticked off at himself for having such unreadable handwriting. What was he trying to write and why couldn’t he remember writing it?

Absentmindedly he chews on a pen. When Dipper finally bites down on it a little bit _too_ hard, a  barista already knows to hand him a napkin.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened and it wouldn’t be the last.

12:30 PM. By this time Dipper Pines has completed the abysmal task of transferring his musings to a neatly put together file. Well, as neat as he could make hundreds of disjointed thoughts. Actually, it wasn’t neat at all. But all of his writing was in _one place_ , and that was what mattered! And so, the creative process begins!

1:00 PM. The creative process has not begun.

1:30 PM. The creative process is not starting up like a broken car. The creative process is lost somewhere deep in the woods, no, the creative process is _dead_. Dipper stares at the blank page and cards his hands through his hair, gently tugging at his auburn locks as he racks his brain for something, _anything_. Bouncing one leg up and down violently he accidentally hits his knee under the table, resulting in a swear word that caused a nearby mother to put her hands over her child’s ears. Dipper hides his head in his hands and suppresses the urge to scream.

2:00 PM. Plot? Check. Setting? Check. Theme? Check. Main character?

No check. Nothing _near_ a check.

What the _hell_ was he going to do without a main character?

3:00 PM. It wasn’t until the hollow emptiness in his stomach started gnawing at his gut, making every movement painful, that he realized he needed to actually eat something. Drinking coffee all day sufficiently suppressed his appetite, not to mention distressing over his writing made him forget that feeding himself was a _necessity_. It always felt like a waste of time taking a break to eat food, but if it had to be done it had to be done. With big old puppy  eyes he shot a glance over to the barista and that was her cue to start making him something to eat. She made _the best_ sandwiches in Gravity Falls and nobody would be able to convince Dipper otherwise.

Even when he received his food he merely nibbled at the sandwich, too intently focused to put all of his effort into eating. Eating was a chore, most times Dipper only felt like he did it because he didn’t want to starve and _die_.

5:00 PM. Maybe if he stares at the blank word document long enough his book would write itself.

No such luck.

8:00 PM. The café closes in an hour. Dipper slouches in his chair, several discarded coffee cups stacked into the shape of a pyramid resting by the side of his laptop. His hands are nowhere near the keyboard at this point, his arms just lifelessly hang by his sides. He has given up.

He is a broken man.

Despite having completed a large amount of planning, he still has a bland main character. A lifeless, dull, unnamed main character. No matter how hard he tries to create a protagonist nothing he brainstorms feels _right_. Dragging his hands down his face, he groans as he rubs his eyes, emotionally exhausted and downright frustrated with himself. Dipper had already written two books – why was this one in particular giving him so much _trouble_?

With a cheerful chime the tiny bell attached to the front door of the café rings as an unfamiliar face enters the room.

That’s it. _He was the one._

* * *

   
12:17 PM. Wirt was tossing as many of his belongings as he could fit into his suitcase, not particularly worried about the necessities but rather making sure that all of his favorite possessions were with him, especially those with meaning behind them. Unfortunately, that included quite a few objects.

12:31 PM. Given the short amount of time he had to prepare, Wirt was forced to abandon about half of what he wished to bring along with him in order to make room for actual clothes. Although it pained him, he told himself he would find new mementos on his trip. Besides, it wasn’t as though he was leaving for life; this was merely a business trip, albeit one longer than the typical one. He would be back before he knew it.

3:03 PM. Thank God the airport was close by; at least he had enough time to run through the all the checks. He shivered as he sat waiting for his flight to board. No wonder the environment was being destroyed; he couldn’t even begin to fathom the air-conditioning bill the airport was paying.

3:36 PM. Could the line move any slower? How long does it take to board everyone on an airplane? He glanced at his watch for what must have been the fiftieth time in the last hour. No wonder flights were delayed so often.

4:07 PM. Takeoff always made him queasy. He grips at the seat handle as the lady next to him casts him an uneasy look. What the hell was she looking at, anyways?

4:09 PM. AWW THE WHOLE CITY LOOKS LIKE TOYS AND THE CLOUDS ARE SO CLOSE THE WORLD IS REALLY CUTE AND FLYING IS EXCITING.

4:17 PM. Flying is really boring.

6:45 PM. He must have dozed off sometime during the flight since before he knew it the plane had landed. He curled into himself as he waited outside for the bus; it was far colder than he had prepared for. In his excitement for the trip itself, he forgot to properly pack for it. Not that he owned any winter clothes; L.A. weather never dipped below sixty degrees.

7:17 PM. Wirt honestly wished that he was travelling during the day; he knew the bus was driving through the scenic mountain forests, but he couldn’t see any of it, and that irked him. He really missed being in a place with actual nature.

7:55 PM. After the bus dropped him off, Wirt finally steps into a cozy hotel check-in room, his new home for the next few weeks, at least until he finds a more permanent place to stay. Small wood carvings decorated the room, adding to the lumberjack theme of the place. The rustic feel was a welcome change, and he could already feel his creative juices flowing back into him.

8:01 PM. After leaving his belongings in his number, he walks outside with the hopes of finding a place where he could get something light to eat; he still felt a little woozy after the flight, and he probably wouldn’t be able to stomach anything as heavy as fast food. Better yet, he needed something warm to drink. Night had long since fallen, and it was bitter outside. Spotting a cafe that promised coffee, tea, and sandwiches, he walked right in, reveling at the burst of warm air that hit him as soon as he opened the door.

8:03 PM. After ordering a berry blend tea and a caprese panini, he grabs two packets of cane sugar and settles down at a table, leaning back to observe his surroundings as he waits for his order to come in. It seemed like a relatively ordinary place, not too different from the typical coffee shop, though there was one patron that caught his gaze for just a few seconds longer than the rest of the people there.

8:04 PM. Oh God, he couldn’t stop staring at that one guy. He dragged his gaze away pointedly, feeling embarrassed. That was weird. There was nothing too out of the ordinary about him, perhaps with the exception of the way his unkempt hair curled, or how his broad chest expanded with each breath, or how he chewed on his pen, deep in thou- wait, what was he thinking?

8:04:16 PM. He wasn’t gay last time he checked.

8:04:32 PM. Oh, that’s right. Wirt was working on a story (the reason he flew out here in the first place) and one of the things he had been hoping to find was inspiration for a new character. That’s what it was - just his mind recognizing literary potential. Shaking his head, he reaches for his notebook to jot down his thoughts and impressions from that day.

* * *

 

There was something about him, something he couldn’t put his finger on. Was it the way he looked so out of place yet somehow _perfectly_ fit in? The softness of his voice as he ordered a tea, the gentle aspect to his features – there was something picturesque about him. It was abnormal to see someone new in Gravity Falls, especially someone that obviously wasn’t a tourist. It was a small town, everyone knew _everyone_. A new resident was usually the most exciting news of the week (as far as regular news went – abnormalities and paranormal activity were an entire different topic).

Dipper prayed he wasn’t just passing through.

A silent protagonist, no, a _mostly_ silent protagonist – that was who his main character would be. After all, the character would have to speak, but Dipper already knew the story wasn’t going to be all that dialogue driven. Someone who was quiet could be very intelligent; everything he would write for him could be the most important words the audience would hear during the entire story. They would be weighted heavier than some typical  cocky chatterbox type protagonist. _His_ words would mean something more – they would matter and come when the reader needed to hear them most.

This character would be someone more different than Dipper had ever written before.

Adjusting himself from his slouching position to an upright stance (and he tried his best not to seem too visibly excited) Dipper begins typing away, his fingers gliding across the keyboard keys at a speed he hadn't managed since writing essays moments before due dates back in college. Thoroughly familiar with his keyboard, he doesn’t need to particularly look at the screen as he writes. In fact he’s not looking at the screen _at all_.  Dipper is looking directly at the subject of his writing. The clicking and clattering of keys slowly comes to a stop and soon Dipper finds himself…just staring.

And he’s looking back at him. They’re transfixed on each other, their eyes lock. Something about this person feels…familiar. Like an old, lost friend.

Dipper gulps and forces himself to tear his gaze away. Although he hadn't looked at him much longer than thirty seconds it may as well have been thirty years. Clearing his throat awkwardly he continues to write, if only to distract himself from gawking.

Maybe Dipper would have realized how creepy he was acting if he wasn't so inspired by the man.

The store was closing soon. Would he leave before then? Dipper wondered if they would end up leaving around the same time, together even. Then what? What would Dipper say to him? What would he do? Telling a guy you’re inspired by him and want to write about him wasn't exactly an ideal introduction. How weird would that be? Dipper was going to make an idiot of himself, no, _no way_ , he was going to stay discreet. That was a way better idea.

* * *

 

Wirt couldn't help but notice the eye-catching stranger staring at him. Well, _most likely_ staring at him. Perhaps he was staring straight past Wirt, and he shouldn't be so self-centered. Yes, he was probably just being self-centered.

He snapped out of his trance as the waitress brought him his tea, telling him that his sandwich would be out shortly. He thanked her graciously, wrapping his cold fingers around the steaming mug for a few moments to warm them before adding the two sugars. On most days he took one, but he figured the extra glucose wouldn't hurt. It had been a long day, after all.

Closing his eyes, he breathed in the aromatic tea, glad that ‘Blueberry Breeze’ smelled as good as it was named.

Stealing another quick glance at the stranger, he turned back to his journal, if only for the sake of having a reason to avert his gaze.

 _And every time I glance upon thee_,  
_An eerie feeling overtakes my soul_  
_It urges me to run, to_ _flee,_  
_Its_ _burn is far too painful to ignore._  
_And yet, I will remain by you._

Oh. Oh no. He needed to stop that right now. Mere minutes have passed since he laid eyes on the guy, and already poetry was spewing from his mind. That wasn’t a good sign.

As he mulls over his conflicting thoughts, the waitress finally brings him the panini he ordered. It only took him one look at it to realize that he was absolutely starving. He picked up the first sandwich, eyeing it approvingly - the bread was toasted just right. Biting into it confirmed this fact, and he couldn’t help but let out a little moan. Airport food certainly did not compare to this. Wirt allowed himself a wide grin.This was everything he wanted - good food, a beautiful location, friendly people, and, as a bonus, excellent tea. ‘Blueberry Breeze’ really lived up to its name.

And that was when he became keenly aware once more that the stranger was in the room with him.

He froze mid-bite. Oh, God, he must’ve looked so stupid, fawning over his sandwich like that, how embarrassing! Wirt tried to act casual as he straightened up and reached for a napkin. Just a regular patron, doing a regular thing. Nothing weird here.

With the next bite, half of the contents of his sandwich slid out from underneath the toast and plopped unceremoniously onto the plate.

He felt a rising panic in his chest. What was the etiquette for this? Was it okay to put tomatoes and mozzarella back into a sandwich? Did he need to get a fork now or could he use his hands? Was he supposed to just leave it? But he couldn’t do _that_ , he was still hungry, and that was a pricy panini! Instead, he reached for his tea, but he moved too quickly, and a few scathing drops spilled onto his hands, not enough to make a mess, but just enough to hurt and make him flinch visibly.

At this point, he practically shook from nervousness. Why _was_ he this nervous? Because of a random stranger in a random coffee shop? He probably wouldn’t even see him again. Sure, he might inspire his next protagonist, but that’s not a valid reason to freak out. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to face the battle of eating his  panini properly.

 

* * *

Dipper inhales. He exhales slowly through his nose. He inhales again.

This stranger was going to kill him. Dipper Pines was going to die right there in Gravity Fall’s one and only cafe. His tombstone would read: _‘Here lies Dipper Pines. Died after watching some guy eat a sandwich. RIP’._

Distracting himself was no longer working. At this point he was quietly observing the man, his entire face obscured except for his eyes peeking up from behind the laptop screen. Dipper raises his eyebrows in a bemused fashion when the man takes a bite into his sandwich. Did he just... _moan_? Was that normal? Maybe he was just _really_ hungry. Maybe Dipper was exaggerating the situation in his head. This person  was just some normal dude, eating a normal sandwich. And judging from how the entire contents of said sandwich spilled out onto his plate, the man was very bad at doing something as simple as eating.

It was sort of endearing.

Chuckling to himself, Dipper's expression drops when he realized that it must have looked like he was laughing at the poor guy. Well, he _was_ – but not in a mean way! Realizing he made an ass of himself, he closes his laptop and figures it was time to leave before things got worse. Attempting to grab all seven empty coffee cups that had piled up throughout the day, he struggles to take them to the trash can. Cursing under his breath as one of the coffee cups fall from his arms and rolls behind him, he turns around and bends over to pick it up, his back towards the man as he stoops down with an irritated groan.

Snagging the cup with a triumphant grin, he spins around on the ball of his foot and starts walking towards the stranger’s table (the trash can was behind him), only to successfully drop all of the cardboard cups in his arms right as he passed him. It was like his limbs malfunctioned from being within such a close radius to the man. A flush warms up on Dipper’s cheeks as he looks from the scattered trash on the ground, to the man, then back to the trash again. Dipper may as well have started lying on the floor alongside the garbage.

Because he was total _trash._

“I’m sorry, man. I was just, _uh_ , carrying a lot of empty…cups?” he chokes out stupidly, sounding a lot like a kid with stage fright during a school play. Dipper really wished he had rehearsed his lines.

Bending down to the ground, he starts to collect what he had dropped. Dipper felt himself beginning to sweat. Like, _really_ sweat. Why was he so sweaty? Realizing he probably looked insane, he started to grow more and more frantic as each second ticked by. Social interaction wasn’t really a strong suit of Dipper’s. It never had been. Not when he was a kid, not in high school, not in college and _most certainly_ not after college. In fact, this was the most lonesome Dipper had ever been in his entire life. Being a writer meant he had no need for talking to anyone – the more alone time he had the better. There was nothing that forced him into social interaction on a day-to-day basis. Except for coffee cups, _apparently_.

* * *

  
  
For the rest of his meal, Wirt took the extra effort to keep his eyes straight ahead of him instead of casting glances sideways at the stranger. Better to ignore his surroundings as best as he could and hope the guy wouldn’t see him fail at a task as menial as eating.

_If I don’t see him, he doesn’t see me, right?_

Right away he knew that was probably the stupidest thought he had all evening. For all he knew, the man might even be watching him right now. Unable to control himself, his gaze diverted sideways for a split second.

Oh. Oh dear. The guy was not only looking in his direction but he was _laughing_ , and he wouldn’t be surprised in the least if it was at him. Why did he even bother looking?

Wirt turned back around again. He really needed to stop turning around as it was starting to hurt his neck, already aching from the plane ride earlier that day.

He broke that resolve not even twenty seconds later, but this time turned beet red for a completely different reason than embarrassment. Oh, he was greeted with quite the sight.

Whoever knew they made jeans that fit _that_ well?

The stranger had bent over to pick up a cup he had dropped, reaching for it with a subtle grace. Whereas earlier Wirt was making sure to not let his gaze linger longer than a second, this time he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Perhaps it was the fact that he could finally observe without being seen himself, perhaps it was some form of raw attraction he had never experienced before, but something within his heart stirred and something in his lower gut jolted. The way that his back sloped into his broad shoulders, the way his shirt rode up, showing a thin strip of skin… No, it was too much for him.

And then the man turned to walk in Wirt’s direction.

Oh no.

 _Play it cool, play it cool,_ he repeated to himself. He  was probably just leaving. That would be good; he had enough embarrassing moments from earlier today to last him the entirety of the rest of his trip here. It was best if they were not in the same room together.

A clattering of cups right next to his table snapped him out of his mantra. Peeking over, he noticed that the stranger had stumbled and dropped all of the cups he was carrying, stuttering out an excuse as he stooped to pick them up again. Poor guy, what sort of life does he lead to have to drink so much coffee? He mentally added that to his growing list of character quirks for his protagonist.

Alas, no matter how paralyzingly enamored Wirt found himself with the man, he couldn’t simply stand by and watch him struggle, despite the way it was getting harder to breathe the closer he was to him. He reached down, grabbing a few of the cups closest to him, but as he handed the man one of his cups, their fingers brushed against each other, and an electric jolt ran through him.

He banished the thought; there was no electric jolt, what was he thinking? He is a grown-ass man, what is this, _Twilight_? Forcing down his nervousness, he offered the man the most he could  in that high-strung moment - a shy, weak smile.

* * *

  
“Thanks,” Dipper clears his throat a bit as he takes the cup from the man, noticing how their fingers lingered in the split-second contact. His brown eyes are drawn to their touching fingertips – suddenly Dipper can hear his heart pounding in his ears. Like a deer in headlights, Dipper flickers his gaze up to look at the man, frozen and unsure as to what he should do next. It seemed like the proper thing to do would be to introduce himself – that’s how it always went in the movies, right? But this wasn’t some movie; Dipper’s life wasn’t a corny teen romance novel.

Real life was dull and disappointing.

People didn’t randomly introduce themselves to strangers – it didn’t make any sense, especially not after Dipper had embarrassed himself as badly as he did. Returning the smile with a pathetic smirk of his own, he looks away from the man and gathers the cups once again. Standing up very carefully, he makes his way back towards the trash can.

Dipper throws away his garbage. And that was it.

He had squandered away a chance to talk to the person that had _finally_ inspired some great ideas for his writing. Man, that seemed pretty creepy when he thought of it that way. Did he hit a new low? Was he so uncreative that he couldn’t just cook up a new character instead of zoning in on some quirky stranger in a coffee shop?

Was it wrong for Dipper to be irritated with himself? There was a chance he would never see this person again, and somehow, this saddened him deeply.

Mysteries and monsters galore filled his life with enchantment and wonder, but even that had grown tiresome lately. All of the adventures in the world couldn’t make up for how alone he felt, how he really wished he…had a _friend_. Dipper had never been good at making friends, all of his summers spent  in Gravity Falls had been with his sister. While she had gone off and found companions, Dipper had found himself solely depending on her company.

Now that they were adults with their own lives, he didn’t have Mabel anymore. Well, he had her, but she was all the way in Portland.

Where he currently stood, he was the most isolated he had ever been.

Sliding his laptop back into his bag, he says a quick goodnight to the two baristas left behind the counter. It was five minutes until closing and Dipper hated to be the guy that held up the poor employees from finishing their work days. When he walks past the tea-drinking man on his way out, Dipper slows his pace and nearly pauses entirely, his lips parting like he wanted to say something. But all that managed to escape past his lips was a friendly, “Goodnight,” along with a seemingly somber smile.

His heart had sunk from forcing those out words. Dipper could say goodbye but he didn’t even have the courage to say hello? How _messed up_ was that?

* * *

 

Wirt watched the stranger turn his back and head out the door, perhaps never to be seen again. Then again, this was a small town as far as he knew. Maybe he’d run into him again.

A warm feeling welled in his chest.

The stranger returned his smile.

 _Of course he did_ , Wirt instantly reprimanded himself. After all, it was human instinct to mimic the facial expressions of others.

Still, the crooked upturn of his mouth and the momentary eye contact was an image he wouldn’t forget for days.

He frowned slightly. He had only been in town for an hour, and already his heartstrings were tugged. Noticing the baristas eyeing him, he glanced at his watch. Nine o’clock already? He quickly packed up his things, tossing away his trash and bidding his waitress a farewell as he exited the shop.

Wirt stood outside the cafe for a few moments, letting the bitter autumn air bite into his cheeks. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was a welcome change from his previous environment. Each exhale formed into a tiny puff of mist, and he entertained himself this way for a few breaths. The humid air smelled deeply of the earth and the conifers, so refreshing and rich that it almost made him dizzy.

He walked the short route back to his hotel, and despite the slight mishap with the stranger moments ago, he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of being exactly where he needed to be.

He may not have been a theist, but he whispered a quiet thanks to the winds of fate that guided his life.

* * *

 

Kicking off his shoes and dropping his messenger back to the floor, Dipper sighs to himself, welcomed by nothing other than the silence of an empty home. The Mystery Shack had lost the allure it once had; it had been reduced to an old cabin with creaky floorboards and stale memories. Perhaps the life in the shack had never come from the building itself, but from the people that had resided in it.

Grunkle Stan had passed away about a year ago, leaving the Mystery Shack in his and Mabel’s inheritance. While Dipper would have loved to run the shack alongside his sister, she had her own business to worry about. Her handmade clothing was popular not only in Portland, but also online; Dipper even sold some of her sweaters and scarfs in the gift shop. Wendy and Soos had moved on with their lives as well, so the only person that was left was Dipper. It was hard running things by himself; his tours were limited because of how severely understaffed he was.

The dreaded weekend tours. All Dipper wanted to do was sleep the days away but every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday he opened up the shack for business. Forcing himself into social situations didn’t bode well with him – they only fed into his misery. Regardless, he put on an enthusiastic mask for three days of the week.

Somehow, nobody ever saw through him.

Shuffling into the kitchen, he unbuttons his flannel shirt and shrugs it off, letting it drop to the floor messily. Dipper considers taking off his pants as well, but not without approaching the fridge first, checking it mindlessly out of habit.

It was bare – _of course_ it was bare. Dipper hadn’t bothered restocking it in weeks – what would be the point of filling up his fridge of he barely remembered to eat,  anyways?

Before going to sleep, he plops down on Stan’s old recliner (a majority of the furniture in the cabin remained the same). Deciding to channel surf, he settles on a corny old horror movie, not watching it as much as he was spacing out in the television’s general direction.  
  
Dipper wonders if he would ever see that stranger again.

By the time he heads upstairs to sleep, it’s one in the morning.  
  
His room is lit by the soothing cerulean glow of the full moon. As he makes his way over to his bed, he takes a moment to stare outside the window and into the calamity of night. Pine trees softly sway in the wind, the chirping of crickets accompanying them. Exhausted from his long day he falls back onto his bed, relaxed by the coolness of his sheets and pillow yet the warmness of his comforter. Dipper closes his eyes.

But sleep never comes.

Sadly, this was nothing new for Dipper Pines.  
  
When he had first started having issues with insomnia he had thought his inability to fall asleep was due to all the coffee he usually ingested – that would have done the trick, right? But for a period of time Dipper had gone weeks without the beverage and still sleep never came to him no matter how hard he tried. For years Dipper had been going through the same daily struggle time and time again. Nothing was able to put him to sleep and most nights he would spend lying awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling with a blank expression and a blank mind.  
  
The only thing that had ever been able to get him to sleep had been whiskey, and even then, he usually didn’t sleep very lightly and no longer than four hours. In fact, four hours of rest had become a good night’s sleep for him.

At first, a single shot had been enough to reduce his latency. But through his college years one shot had turned into two, three, _four_. Soon enough Dipper had found himself dependent on the harsh alcohol to lull him to sleep. Self-medicating wasn’t healthy: he _knew_ that.

Who _didn’t_ know that?

But Dipper couldn’t bring himself to see a doctor, no matter how much he knew he needed to see one. When he barely had the drive to get up out of bed, how was he supposed to see a doctor?

Leaning over to his nightstand, he opens up the drawer and pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s along with a shot glass. Originally he had kept the liquor downstairs, but when he had started using it as medication, it had ended up moving into his room. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he takes a shot with weary eyes.

The alcohol does not phase him - he swallows it like water.

Things weren’t always this way.

With his first shot he’s thinking about going to bed, his exhaustion weighing him down like water filling his lungs.

With his second shot he’s gazing out the window again, staring into the ultramarine abyss that was the night sky. Dipper felt like he could swim in it.

Third shot and he’s thinking about his book, but his thoughts trail off easily due to the…

What was he thinking about, again?

Four. He thinks about the hello he never said and the goodbye that left his lips with unnerving ease.  
  


 


	2. Rhododendron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!_  
>  _I never thought to ask; I never knew;_  
>  _But in my simple ignorance suppose_  
>  _The self-same power that brought me there, brought you._  
>  -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Wirt blinks awake to the sight of golden rays streaming through the window.  He glances at the watch that was on his bedside, delighted to find it was still early, and figures it was best not to waste the morning in bed. He rises slowly, stretching his muscles that were a tad sore from all the walking he had been doing; he was very keen on exploring the area, so much that he spent every day so far outside until dark, taking in the sights of the quiet town. The downtown district held the small-town charm he hoped it would, while the stretches of forest possessed a magical quality he hadn’t found anywhere since his adventure in the Unknown. Though it obviously wouldn’t be directly surreal like the Unknown, he was already beyond inspired.

After grabbing a bagel and tea in a paper cup (“Rosehip Revelry”) from the hotel front, he walked off in no direction in particular. He already decided that for his first week, his goal was to simply take in the local area without worrying about writing unless it came to him naturally, though boy, did it come! By the end of today, he would have two stories ready to send off to his editor. All he needed was a quick read through, and perhaps a few more lines of sensory detail. As such, he decided that his best plan of action that day would be through the woods.

He wonders if he’ll see the stranger again.

Dipper. That was his name, or at least what the waitresses in the cafe he had grown to frequent called him. It was an odd name, but it was somehow overwhelmingly fitting. It was also a piece of information he technically did not know yet; he had to constantly remind himself of this fact, knowing that it was the first way to creep someone out. He rehearsed the phrase “What’s your name?” at least fifty times in his head, just to make sure he wouldn’t slip up so early; there was nothing eerier than a stranger knowing your name. That was going to be rather hard, as for some strange reason, Wirt couldn’t help but feel as though he had known Dipper all his life.

Other than getting familiarized with the area, his other activity had been trying to figure out the guy, despite being aware just how creepy that sounded. He couldn’t help but continue stealing glances every time he showed up at the cafe, as well as listen to the townsfolk chat about him when he wasn’t around. It’s not like he was _stalking_ him or anything of that nature. He just _happened_ to be walking in the same direction as him. Multiple times a day. What a coincidence.

Hoping he’ll catch sight of the man that day, Wirt steps onto the soft earth of the forest path. He looks up at the reddening leaves of the canopy trembling ever so slightly, stirred by a faint breeze. Little creatures rustle in the branches as they forage for the remnants of summer’s bounty, while the restless woodpeckers drill holes to store their findings. It was noisy, yet at the same time Wirt felt a sense of equilibrium. Nature on the cusp of autumn seemed at peace.

* * *

The rising sun illuminates the fallen autumn leaves with a fiery radiance, the entire woods glowing as if they had been set on fire. The air is motionless and calm, but dead silent. Not a single bird chirped, nor did any creature rustle in the leaves.

Any and all wildlife had fled a long time ago.

The calm is interrupted by the crunching leaves and a very desperate out-of-breath man running for his life. Chasing after him was a creature that could only be described as nightmarish.

Its spine has jagged dark spikes lined up all the way from its neck to its tail, its fur matted and gnarly. A tentacle-like tongue hangs floppily past its obsidian-colored teeth as it salivates heavily, the creature’s breath visible as it pants through its nose. It was obviously enraged and _hungry_.

Dipper Pines may or may not have taunted it.

Suddenly slammed against a sequoia, he struggles against the beast, its paws nearly the size of his head as it pins him down by his shoulders. It swipes his arm and instinctually Dipper cries out and grabs his injury, his sleeve easily torn clean off by the monster. Three thick lacerations run from his shoulder to his wrist and Dipper mentally notes that scars will form from the fresh injuries. Well, nothing new there. Dipper was covered in marks from his adventures throughout the years and after he got out of this the gashes would just be another story to tell.

Well, _if_ he got out of this.

Gnawing on his tongue in pain he dodges as the behemoth claws at him again. An unearthly grumble gurgles in the creature’s throat before it lets out a deafening howl of fury. As the creature cries out, Dipper frantically darts his gaze to the side to see if he could make it out of harm’s way. Dipper spots an opportunity to escape and he’s running and stumbling over his own two feet before he has a chance to figure out where he was headed to.

Alright, this wasn’t the first time Dipper had found himself in a situation like this. In fact, these ordeals were bi-weekly – weekly if he was _really_ lucky. But with a little bit of problem solving and _a lot_ of luck he was able to get out of any sticky situation! Right?

_...Right?_

Adrenaline courses through his veins as he weaves his way through the trees, desperately making his way out of the thickets of the woods. Dipper knew the deep forests of Gravity Falls like the back of his hand; he had mapped them out mentally for the last eleven years.

Diving through thorn bushes and trees, he’s covered in blood and grime, twigs stuck in his hair - his clothes effectively torn and ruined when he emerges onto the cobblestone walking path. Dipper figures that this early in the morning the walkway remained uninhabited, so he wouldn’t have to worry about getting any passerby tangled up into danger’s way.

For a split second he thinks about the man from the coffee shop, no, _Wirt_. Wirt was his name, or so said the gossiping baristas. They had to know his name, right? They were always writing it on coffee cups.

Or maybe they were just messing with him. Wirt did _sort of_ sound like a made up name.

Dipper had felt so close to _finally_ talking to him this past week, yet here he was, about to die without making contact with the one person that had caught his interest in years. God, he should have _at least_ introduced himself. But all Dipper had managed to do was stare at the dude from behind his computer screen like a dumbfounded teenager for a week.

Another howl echoes from behind him, followed by the earth trembling beneath his feet.

Dipper starts sprinting.

* * *

Though Wirt has been exploring for a few days now, he couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of wonder with each day. There was something welcoming about these golden woods, and he could even say that he felt right at home.

That is, until the forest began to thicken.

That day, he decided to tread further along the trail where the woods were quieter and fewer people ventured, yet the change was so subtle that he didn’t even notice it at first.  Along the trailhead, the cobblestones were neatly laid out and maintained, but the deeper he walked, the more broken the path became. In some places, the tree roots turned over the path, and in other stretches it was completely gone, to the point that Wirt had trouble finding his way in some places. The bushes here grew thicker, leafier, and thornier. It was cooler there, too; more plant life meant more shade.

Wirt stopped to rest for a few moments by a sprawling redwood, and looked up.

Since when did the trees get so tall?

Unease washes over him. It wasn’t just the redwoods; all of the trees lost the allure they had earlier on his walk. Instead of the warm spectrum of leaves, he was greeted with bare, gnarled branches that twisted over him like claws. The air seemed dead, and the silence rang, no, pounded in his ears. Something about it seemed vaguely familiar...

Instantaneously, a barrage of images flashes through his mind.

Icy waters, blizzards, consuming darkness, and the trees, oh, those gruesome, oil-leaking trees!

Wirt’s knees gave out, and he would have dropped onto the ground if he didn’t reach out for the redwood a few feet away from him. He leans back against it, trying to calm his breathing. He would be okay. Just a little flashback, is all.

Slowly, he peels himself off of the tree, trembling slightly. He felt sick to his stomach.

A loud crunch echoes through the woods, and he turns sharply, trying to find the source of the sound. He takes a few steps backwards, hoping to leave quietly before whatever in the woods finds him.

As Wirt turns around to start walking back, a solid force slams right into him, knocking him to the ground.

* * *

 

Looking over his shoulder to check how far the beast was behind him, he doesn’t think about how running without watching where he was going was a terrible idea. As soon as Dipper looks ahead again he smacks right into a tree, falling to the ground, dazed from the sharp pain to his skull. Rubbing at his throbbing forehead he groans, cringing for a second before he finally opens up his eyes and looks at the tree he had run into.

Dipper quickly realizes he did not run into a tree at all. He ran into _Wirt_.

His heart sinks so low into his stomach you’d swear it was the Titanic.

Winded from the blow, Wirt rolls into a ball, clutching at his solar plexus. _What in the ever-loving hell was that?_ he thinks. As his vision finally manages to refocus, he looks around, finding a collapsed figure on the ground.

As fate would have it, before him lies none other than Dipper Pines himself.

Scrambling forward Dipper grabs Wirt’s arms, giving a tight squeeze before he manages to muster any words. There was no time to waste – if they hung around too long they would _both_ be in danger and Dipper really did not want that.

He really, _really_ did not want that.

“Shit, okay, _no time to explain,_ we gotta –” Frantic and out of breath he regains himself and stands up shakily, his eyes jittering around with paranoia. Dipper was visibly trembling and bleeding heavily, which wasn’t a huge deal to him, but probably made him look like a psychopath to Wirt.

God, he just wanted to make sure Wirt would be okay. Dipper didn’t want him to get tangled up into something dangerous. Dipper wanted _nobody_ to get caught up in his misadventures, especially Wirt of all people. Why wasn’t something less threatening chasing him? Like a unicorn or maybe a friendly fairy?

The wolf-like beast emerges from the brushes. It cries out a roar of fury, its howl piercing their ears at a deafening volume.

“ **Run!** ” Dipper barks, pulling Wirt up hurriedly. Tugging at him desperately he grabs his hand and starts to pull him, running as fast as his legs could possibly take him.

Wirt opened his mouth to ask a thousand and one questions, but the words were lost on his tongue as he saw an enormous _something_ crash out from between the trees. His heart dropped to his stomach as he stared wide-eyed at it. He hadn’t seen things like this since - since the Unknown! He was rooted to the spot, transfixed by its gaping maw and gnashing teeth. DId he suddenly manage to find his way back there?

It was Dipper who snapped him back to reality, bellowing at him to run as he was tugged up onto his feet. Before he knew it, he was being pulled by the shorter man through the underbrush at a breakneck pace.

Unable to focus on where they were going Dipper just runs, runs as fast as he can to get out of the forest. The creature wouldn’t leave the woods, nothing ever left the woods if it was as big as _that thing_. The paranormal creatures of Gravity Falls were tied to the thickets somehow, and while some of the more conscious beings like gnomes could venture into the more populated areas, the more bestial entities didn’t step outside their home.

Despite being concerned about crashing into a tree or tripping over a rock, Wirt could feel that Dipper knew exactly where he was going, even though they had long since left the trail behind and were currently weaving between the girthy redwoods. As he watched the man, he realized that Dipper wasn’t scared in the least, not even with the enormous mass of flesh barreling at them. If anything, he looked thrilled to have a monster on his tail.

Not sure what to make of it, Wirt decided to shove any questions he had to the back of his mind and focus on not getting his feet tangled in the blackberry brambles that covered the area, making a firm resolve to get answers out of him later.

Dipper makes a sharp turn and they’re suddenly on a dirt path about two lanes wide. There were fresh tire marks on the run-down road; they had emerged onto one of the main streets cars drove on in Gravity Falls, meaning they were getting closer to civilization. The further they ran down the path the closer and closer they got to what appeared to be a clearing of some type. Dipper already knew this was the lot Greasy’s Diner was located at – which was exactly the type of place he was looking to go to.

Somewhere as populated as that area would ward off the large creature, or so he hoped. From the little knowledge he had on the monster he already knew it wasn’t the most social of creatures – just territorial. In fact, if he hadn’t accidentally pissed it off, it probably would have never been inclined to attack him.

Looking back over his shoulder Dipper lets out a triumphant “Ha!” as the beast begins to slow down, as if it were too weary to continue in its pursuit. Just as he had thought, the closer they got to civilization the less inclined it was to follow them. Dipper’s lungs felt like crumpled paper and his legs felt like they were made out of jelly. If it weren’t for the adrenaline he would probably be in _excruciating_ pain. But Dipper was grinning from ear to ear – feeling completely euphoric to escape the monster all while keeping Wirt unharmed.

They were alive and it was _wonderful_.

By the time they make it to the diner the beast is nowhere to be seen. It had to have retreated back into the woods.

In relief Dipper slows down to a tired jog, leading Wirt to a thick pine tree outside of the restaurant.

Resting his back against the tree he slides down to sit, his chest heaving up and down as he tries to catch his breath. Clutching onto his bloodied arm he closes his eyes and begins to chuckle through his labored breaths, unable to stop himself from bursting out in full laughter from relief. Another travesty escaped, another day to live.

Was it wrong if Dipper felt more alive when he was in danger?

When he flickers his gaze up to Wirt his joyous expression dropped to a serious frown.

“I have some explaining to do, don’t I?” he stutters out, his voice cracking a little bit. Dipper’s cheeks heat up from more than being physically exerted.

“Uh, well, there’s food.” Dipper makes a casual gesture towards the diner. Absolutely soaked in sweat he wipes his forehead with his remaining sleeve. When he stands back up his legs wobble like a newborn doe.

“I’ll treat you to breakfast and explain what’s going on, how ‘bout that?”

Wirt was absolutely relieved to finally be out of the woods. Hands on his knees, he gasped for air; he couldn’t recall the last time he ran for longer than twenty seconds. He glances up at the man who more or less saved him, bruised and bloodied with branches sticking out of his hair. Without warning, Dipper burst into laughter.

Wirt looked over him with a conflicting sense of horror, awe, and pure, ineffable infatuation. Only one thought ran through his mind.

_He saved my life._

“I’ll treat you to breakfast and explain what’s going on, how ‘bout that?”

Wirt blinks, snapping out of his thoughts. “Uh. Yeah. Sure, I think I need a little pick me up.”

He follows Dipper into the restaurant, plopping down into a booth, finally feeling safe. The last few minutes have been overwhelmingly hectic.

Finally a bit loosened up, he recalls the fact that they were just chased by a _living, breathing monster._ Last time he checked, those things only existed in movies, the imagination, and the Unknown, and he was fairly certain that he was not currently located in any of those places. He thought about his first question, and took a deep breath.

“So… Back there. What was that?”

“Yeah, uhm, you see,” Dipper pauses and gives the waitress a little smile when she approaches their table. “Just the usual.”

“A stack of pancakes and a first aid kit?” the waitress responds, while putting her hands on her hips.

“Yeah,” Dipper laughs nervously and rubs the back of his neck. Oh _wow_ , it hurt to move.

“And, uhm, can you get my friend like, the best thing you guys can whip up? I _really_ owe him one.”

“Mmmhmm,” she nods and rolls her eyes at Dipper as she walks back to the kitchen with a slight sway to her hips.

They knew him too well.

“Anyways,” Dipper reaches into his jacket and pulls out a decrepit book. Setting it on the middle of the table he gives it a small push towards Wirt. Opening it up to one page in particular there’s a detailed illustration of the monster that had just been chasing them, along with a description of it and other various notes.

“Back when I was a kid, I used to stay in Gravity Falls every summer. The first year I came here I found this journal. To put it bluntly,” Dipper shrugs a little bit and forces out an awkward laugh, “Gravity Falls is sort of a hot spot for weird paranormal stuff. You know, gnomes, vampires, manotaurs, demons – the works. This journal is one of three. There’s tons of stuff you can’t even _begin_ to imagine in here. ”

Dipper realizes he sounded utterly insane.

“I know it’s a lot to take in. Don’t mean to toot my own horn though, but I’m sort of an _expert_. If you have any questions, ask away. Oh! By the way, I’m Dipper Pines. Uh, you know. From the coffee shop?” Reaching his hand across the table to offer Wirt a handshake he pulls it back with a grimace when he realizes his hand was covered in blood and grime.

Maybe they could skip the formalities.

"I'm Wirt," he offers simply before sliding the strange book closer to him. He carefully flips the pages of the journal, worrying that he’ll rip them on accident. This wasn’t a new fabrication, but obviously an old tome. Had someone given this to him even this morning, he would attribute it to one of those cute Dragonology-type books at best, a humiliating hoax at worst. After escaping a (as far as he could tell real) monster, however, he had no doubt that the things in this book were legitimate. The pages were worn beyond belief as though they were handled by the very monsters they described. Blood and other substances were caked on the pages upon which notes were frantically scribbled. He found it rather interesting that the handwriting differed in places - evidently this book has been passed down from different authors. He wondered which of the entries Dipper had written himself.

The book made the entire fantasy section in the library look dull and boring. Things he couldn’t begin to imagine (gnomes forming into one enormous entity? A triangular dream-sculpting demon? Dentures that forced one to tell nothing but the truth?) were described in uncanny detail. He flipped to a page with a thin-limbed shadowy form, one that supposedly lurked in the woods, just out of sight of the unaware traveler. 

His blood ran cold.

Heart racing, he skipped ahead a few pages. No, The Beast couldn’t be lurking here. He stood on a parallel plane, or was hopefully miles away. Wirt took a deep breath, trying to ease his panic as he looked over the other entries. The next one made him smile.

“Leprecorns?” he asked, unable to suppress a grin.

“Oh, yeah, _those_ , hahaha,” Flustered at the entry he flips ahead to a page that contained a creature that was much more fearsome. Dipper had reservations about that page - as a kid it had gotten the journal discredited entirely by an FBI member. He didn’t want to relive that, especially with a person he was so desperate to make _like_ him.

“Pterosaurs? Here? But dinosaurs are-”

“Extinct? Yeah, I thought so too. Turns out they were stuck in amber in these abandoned mines underneath the city.” That was a mouthful. Dipper realized he sounded like a pathological liar with how easy some of his words left his mouth. Abnormality had been normal for so long that he casually forgot that most people tended to get...freaked out over some of the journal’s contents. With a nervous laugh Dipper shuts the book and pulls it back towards his side of the table.

“So, that’s that. Gravity Falls is weird. Uhm, _yeeeeeah_ ,” Dipper looks around the cafe awkwardly, trying to think of what to talk about next. Would it be weird to mention that he had been watching him for a little over a week? Was that creepy? Oh god, yeah, that was _really_ creepy. Dipper was sweating.

Why was he so sweaty?!

Wirt watches the man shift from excited and confident to nervous and unsure in a matter of seconds. The duality he possessed was rather adorable, and it made him want to learn more about him. 

“Weird is fine. I mean, I’ve only been here for a week and this town is much lovelier compared to the city I've spent the last few years in; the only monster there is five o’clock rush hour. Speaking of monsters, thanks for saving my life back there,” he added. The knight in shining armor, saving his fair maiden-

Wirt stopped himself right there. Just because a random flannel-clad local dragged his stupid ass to safety didn’t mean his life suddenly turned into a living fairy tale. Sure, it was the very handsome flannel-clad local he had been eyeing since the day he arrived, but he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. He made a mental note to refrain from whispering poetry under his breath, a habit he had never been able to break.

“Saving your life?” More like endangering it, but sure, he’d take the thanks. No, no, that wouldn’t be right. Looking conflicted, Dipper forces a weak smile. “Honestly you shouldn’t thank me. I mean, _ugh_ , I led that thing straight to you. Not that it was intentional!” God damn it, he needed to think before he spoke.

“It just sort of happened on accident! People aren’t usually up this early.” The only reason Dipper was awake was because he didn’t sleep in the first place.

“I wasn’t expecting to put anyone in harm's way, especially _you_. I’m just glad you’re alright, I guess. Wait, no, not I guess. For certain. I am glad you’re alright for certain,” Dipper cringes at his trainwreck of a sentence. He didn’t think he would be able to screw up the whole first impressions thing but, _lo and behold_ , he was. 

 _Especially me?_   Wirt thought. No, he must have heard that wrong. He was considering inquiring about it, but a waitress interrupted their conversation. 

“All right, pancakes and a first-aid kit for our adventurer, and our special bacon-pancake cheese-waffle omelet bagel-crust pizza for your little friend here!” With a wink, she flounces away to attend to the others.

Wirt stared at his plate, absolutely dumbfounded. Even in a metropolitan city he had never come across such a concoction of breakfast foods. “So I eat this with a fork, right?” he asked, then mentally kicked himself. He probably sounded like a total prick right there. Really? Of all the comments he could have made, he went with the most pretentious one. “I-I mean uh. Wow. _Wow._ This is the most spectacular thing I have ever seen.”

That sounded even dumber.

Blush heating up his cheeks at his poor choice of words, he decided that using his hands was his best route. Trying not to seem too dubious about it, he picked up a slice, chewing thoughtfully. His eyes widened.

“I don’t know what’s in this or how it’s made, but this is _the_ most amazing thing I have ever eaten.”

And that’s a rock fact.

“It’s a heart attack waiting to happen. You really don’t want to know how many calories it is. Great for hangovers, though,” Dipper says as he starts to cut up his pancakes into tiny bite sized pieces before eating them. Dumping more syrup over them than was necessary he shoves the first bite into his mouth. Sighing through his nose in satisfaction from the warmness of the food Dipper takes his time chewing. Eyeing the first aid kit he figures he would tend to his wounds later. Dipper was hungry, his arm could wait. It had already waited this long and Dipper was pretty sure he had done worse.

“So, _Wirt_ ,” Addressing him by his name made Dipper a lot happier than it should have, “What brings you to Gravity Falls? Work?” He really needed to work on his small-talk.

"Yeah, work, actually. I've been writing stories for a Los Angeles based magazine, but since most of those are set in the wilderness, writing started getting really challenging, so my editor suggested I take a trip."

“Wait, you’re a writer _too_?” Perking up with excitement he grins from ear to ear, leaning a little closer. Dipper had sort of assumed the guy was doing business work or something boring - but he was a writer all along!

“I write books! I mean, uhm, I’m a novelist,” he said in a poor attempt to sound more official. Even as the words slipped out of his mouth they didn’t feel right. Dipper was an amateur writer - the term novelist didn’t seem fitting for himself. But he was published, so it was accurate, right?

"What a coincidence," Wirt said, feeling a small thrill of excitement run through him. He always enjoyed meeting other writers since they tended to share frames of thinking. "So what do you write about, if I may ask?"

Tapping the ancient book with his index finger he looks up at Wirt with a smirk, “The contents of this journal. Things I’ve seen here in Gravity Falls. Honestly, I’d love to write an autobiography or something but I don’t think I’m narcissistic enough for that type of thing,” Dipper pauses and his expression sinks. Maybe it was better if the general public didn’t know the truth, anyway.

“Having to categorize my novels as ‘fictional’ is already enough of a bummer to begin with. But hey, you do what you gotta do.” Dipper frowns and looks out the window with a sigh, the syrup starting to make his pancakes corrode into a watery paste. He didn’t have much of an appetite lately, anyway.

A kindred spirit, Wirt realized. He hesitated, unsure how to explain that most of his tales were inspired by his time in the Unknown. He always tried to brush it off as a near-death experience, but the fact that Greg had the same story to tell still kept him up at night. Not to mention the glowing frog. He decided that biting his tongue would be best for now; perhaps he’d tell his tale another day.

Snapping his gaze back to Wirt, Dipper forces a smile, “Well, if you ever need anyone to show you around I’d be happy to give you a tour! I know this place like the back of my hand.”

"That would be great, if it's not too much of a hassle for you. I’ve done a bit of exploring, but I’m sure you’re a lot more familiar with the place," Wirt replied, right as he glanced down at his plate, and felt a drop of guilt. He only managed to get a quarter of the way through it, but he already felt incredibly full. "Do you think I could get a box for this? Or, or maybe you'd want the rest? I mean, there's a lot, I don’t know if I can finish this all, heh."

Dipper looks down at the pathetic excuse for pancakes that were left over on his own plate. Looking back up at Wirt he shakes his head a little.

“You should definitely get a box.”

* * *

 

Before leaving the diner Dipper had excused himself into the bathroom to haphazardly wrap his wounds. _Very_ haphazardly. Even though he was a complete wreck Wirt had seemed genuinely interested in hanging out with him, which in all honesty was the most exciting thing to happen to Dipper in _months_. And that was coming from the guy that was chased around by monsters on a day-to-day basis.

As Dipper walked out of the bathroom, Wirt couldn’t help but notice how loosely his wounds were wrapped, especially on the upper part of his arm. Must have been an awkward spot to reach, he figured. As though by impulse, he carefully took the twisted strands and started rebandaging the gauze gently.

“Here,” he mumbled, tying them up with a tight little knot, then flushed, backing away quickly. Butterflies cut at the lining of his stomach when he suddenly realized the intimacy of the moment. He racked his brain for an excuse. “Oh, uh, I have a younger brother. Well, half-brother. He’s always getting cuts and scratches and I’m just sort of used to helping him out.”

Dipper would buy that excuse, right?

“Thanks,” he said with a warm smile. Dipper felt himself blushing and as soon as he realized he was doing so he turned away from Wirt.

“Alright, on with the tour!”

Dipper’s tour of Gravity Falls started out relatively normal: he showed Wirt the downtown district of the city. Post office, library, general store, grocery store, all of the typical places to show someone new to the town. Everything in Gravity Falls was small and rustic, as if the city actually strived to keep up the stereotypical appearance of a sleepy town buried in the thickets of Oregon.

But as the tour went on Dipper found himself leading Wirt down secret paths buried deep in the woods, keeping him close to his side. Constantly checking to look back at Wirt, he smiles at him each time, obviously excited to share his life with _someone_. This was the first time in a long time Dipper had been able to be around someone his age and just, well, hang out.

"So this is the place you found the journal?" Wirt asked, running his hand over the fake tree. This town hid far more secrets than Wirt could have dreamed of, and he was just starting to realize just how little he’d actually seen of the town.

“Yup! This is where it all started,” Dipper states matter of factly. Pulling his journal out of his coat pocket he opens it to its very first page where the bold statement “TRUST NO ONE!” was written. At one time he had followed that phrase like a mantra, but as the years went by Dipper had changed his way of thinking. Sometimes it was okay to put trust in others, it was just something that had to be thought out first. Looking from the page up to Wirt he can't help but to wonder if Wirt was someone he could trust. The guy seemed...gentle. Kind.

There were some people worth trusting.

“This isn't even the best part of Gravity Falls! Ever hear of the Mystery Shack?” Dipper didn’t want to brag, but the shack was pretty awesome. Sort of. It needed work, to be honest.

“Yeah, actually! The way I found this place was because about an hour before my editor offered to send me on a ‘business trip,’ I saw a car with one of those “What is the Mystery Shack?” stickers. I was planning on taking a tour this weekend.”

“This weekend? We can actually take one now if you like?” Dipper says casually, with his back to Wirt, already leading the way. Wirt didn’t know that he was the owner of the town’s number one tourist trap, so that would probably be a pleasant surprise. Or just make him seem totally lame. Dipper was crossing his fingers for the former of the two.

“Really? I thought it was closed on the weekdays. It’s only Wednesday, do you know someone on the inside?”

“You could say that,” Dipper says, unable to keep himself from snickering a little.

Wirt gave him a dubious look, but figured it was just the guy’s sense of humor. He _did_ break out laughing after being chased by a towering monster.

As Dipper led them through the forest, the path slowly faded away into the overgrown grass. After the while there was no trace of a road at all, just a plethora of moss-covered wooden arrows and signs that pointed towards the obscure location. It was literally smack dab in the middle of the woods - its seclusion was supposed to be part of its “charm”. As charming as it was, it made it pretty hard to locate. Dipper couldn’t even count all the times he had to go on rescue missions to find lost tourists.  
  
“Here it is! The one and only Mystery Shack!” Dipper motions towards the cabin with a cheesy grin, presenting it with a showy arm gesture.

The house was expansive, architecturally it was structured beautifully. Surrounded by redwood trees that towered towards the sky it was well shaded, a pocket of light shining down on the building like a humongous spotlight. A rustic picnic bench hid among the unkempt lawn, more like a forest meadow at this point than anything, which truly added to the mysterious nature of the building. A deer, its ears quivering, trembled in the bushes before bounding away as the men entered the clearing.

But something seemed...a bit rundown about it. The yard was full of weeds, unkempt and lifeless. The windows looked a bit grimy, like they needed cleaning. Every floorboard creaked and that was telling of the building’s age - the place sort of looked like it was going to collapse in on itself any second.

The Mystery Shack: Gravity Fall’s most overwhelming and underwhelming tourist trap.

Strolling up to the front door he motions for Wirt to follow him. Dipper reaches into his pockets and pulls out a key.

He couldn't tell if Wirt was really impressed or really confused.

“This is my house. I’m the guy that gives the tours. What a turn of events, right? S-so, uhm, did you still want that tour?” Clearing his throat he averts his eyes from Wirt. Dipper was pretty much positive he was making himself look like a total idiot. Without another word he proceeds to unlock the door, very unsuccessfully at that. His hands were sweaty and shaking, _god_ he was so nervous.

“You give the tours _and_ you live here?” Wirt looked on in awe. This guy really did step out of a fairytale. No wonder his mind pretty much locked in on him the moment he laid eyes on him.  
  
“Yup! Pretty crazy, right? It’s actually not as magical as it seems, it’s just a log cabin with a bunch of fake attractions. People love it, though!” Dipper honestly didn’t sound too sure of himself.

Fumbling to unlock the door Dipper drops the key on accident and, surprise surprise, it falls right through the wooden floorboards. His jaw drops and he just stares at the ground, in total disbelief over what he had just done. Really? He _seriously_ just dropped the keys? What was this - a movie? This couldn’t actually be happening.

Dipper turns back around to look at Wirt while smacking his forehead with a groan. He totally couldn’t look Wirt in the eyes anymore, Dipper was a complete doofus and Wirt probably thought so too.

“Gimme a second,” Sighing he walks around to the back of the building while Wirt waited at the door. Dipper puts his hands on his hips and he looks up at the upstairs window. Yeah, getting up there was going to be a huge pain in the ass.

Wirt opened his mouth to offer to go grab the key, but Dipper already had his mind set on another idea. Well, he _was_ the owner; he probably knew better what to do.

Dipper climbs on top of the golf cart (which had been broken and out of commission for years) and uses it to get onto the roof of the house. It probably looked a whole lot like he was breaking into the Mystery Shack. Well he technically was, but not in a criminal way! Did Wirt think he was a criminal? Oh no, he’d probably have to show the guy some type of documentation to prove it was his house now.

Great, this was just great. He was totally blowing it.

Thanking the gods that he had left the window unlocked (which was actually a terrible idea) he slips inside and hurriedly stomps down the stairs. Scuttling across the floorboards, he attempts to adjust himself before opening the door from the inside.

Dipper Pines was a complete mess.

While Dipper was stomping around inside, Wirt had carefully ducked under the porch to see if he could retrieve the key. He peered into the darkness as he crawled forward in the dark, narrow space, cobwebs, weeds, and weird, rusted bits of metal blocking his path.

There it was, lying in a beam of sunlight streaming through the crack the key fell through. Wirt reached out, twisting his hand between the spokes of the bicycle wheel that was caging the exact spot the object lay in.

“Got it,” he whispered aloud. His fingers wrapped around the key, and he snaked his hand out, shaking it to clear it of the spiderwebs that just seemed to stick. When he couldn’t get rid of them, he went to use his other hand to brush it off, only to see something big, each of its eight furry legs clinging tightly to his hand.

He screamed, shaking his arm violently as he tried to back away, only to hit his head painfully on the ceiling above. Whimpering, he finally managed to crawl back out, key still in hand. The arachnid thankfully disappeared, but the pain did not.

On shaky legs, he managed to clamber back onto the porch. Since Dipper still somehow hadn’t made it to the door, he decided to try the key, opening the creaky door to a very surprised looking Dipper. Something about him looked a little distraught too, judging by his furrowed eyebrows.

“First off: how did you...open the door? Second off: did I hear you scream or something? Or did I imagine that?” Dipper stutters out through a pant. He had just run down the stairs, but he was trying to play it cool. Unfortunately, Dipper didn’t possess an ounce of coolness.

“I, uh, ducked under the porch and grabbed the key,” Wirt replied, running a hand through his hair, only to pull out strings of web from his hair. Oh, God, that was gross. “Also, there was a spider. On my hand. It’s fine now. I’m fine.”

He handed off the key to Dipper. He really hoped he didn’t come off as too weird.

Taking the key from Wirt he pockets it and kicks off his shoes. Spreading his arms out he realizes that the shack was totally not in a presentable state, yet here he was, presenting it anyway.

“Well, here it is. At least the house portion of it. The attractions are in a separate space but, haha, you know I’ll just give you a massive tour because you’re like, a VIP or something. But it’s really not that special.” Dipper was caught somewhere in between totally wanting to show off and wanting to be modest all at once.

“Oh, I’m not a VIP or anything, but thank you,” Wirt said, humbled by the treatment as he shuffled into the house. It was equal parts charming and run-down, but he decided that he liked it. His eyes swept across the room, from the stairs that looked like they creaked with each step to the peculiar baubles and strange fabrications that populated the surfaces of all the shelves. He absentmindedly ran a finger over the beak of a stuffed dodo, swiping off the dust that had gathered on it.

“So are all of these things real or magical like that monster we saw?” he asked, picking up a small totem that had fallen over, looking over it a few times before setting it back upright.

“No...wait, actually, yes? Maybe? My uncle left them behind, I don’t really know what’s what if I’m going to be completely honest.” With a nervous chuckle he starts to lead Wirt down the hallway. Pausing in his steps he sort of grimaces and looks back to his new friend.

“Maybe it’s best if you don’t touch anything. Just to be safe.”

“Ah, sorry,” Wirt said, withdrawing his hands quickly. He followed Dipper, noting all of the picture frames that were hanging. Despite Dipper’s warning, he paused at one, reaching up to straighten it as he noted the people behind the glass. He could spot Dipper in the picture, but he wasn’t sure about the others. “Oh, is this your sister?”

“Yeah, that’s my twin.” Dipper’s voice is fond, reminiscing almost. “She lives up in Portland at the moment. These are the people I used to spend my summers with. There’s Mabel, Grunkle Stan, Wendy, Soos…” Dipper points out each person respectively, his expression sinking to a straight line. Seeming a bit saddened he tries to get his spirits high again. Being bummed out around Wirt wouldn’t make a very good impression.

“Lemme show you the enigmatic oddities of Gravity Falls’ one and only Mystery Shack: no refunds,” he says with an over-dramatic flair to his tone, wiggling his fingers for effect. Slipping into his tour-guide persona he clears his throat a bit as they make it to their first attraction: the kitchen. Walking backwards he looks at Wirt and leads the way. Dipper really had the whole tour guide thing down.

“Not much is known about the kitchen of the Mystery Shack, but legend goes that there is absolutely nothing to eat in here. _Ever_. They say the refrigerator remains entirely unstocked except for a single plate of Chinese leftovers. Shall we see for ourselves?” Dipper opens the fridge and fakes an expression of shock when there was the foretold single plate of food.

“Why, it turns out the legend is true!” Smiling back at Wirt he chuckles nervously.

“I-is this lame? Do you want the real tour? I figured I’d like, show you around the house first but if this is lame I’ll just skip to the good stuff,” Dipper rambles, his nervousness strewn across his face. One-on-one up and personal social interaction was not his forte. Tour groups were fine - he was used to those. They were strangers.

But Wirt was _much more_ than a stranger.

Wirt laughed along with him. “I’m up for anything you want to show me. Your house is really cool.”

He took in the kitchen, a small room that looked as though it had seemed cozier times. He counted at least three bottles of Jack Daniel’s scattered about the room, their implications making Wirt’s heart drop slightly. A single sprig of purple aconite bloomed between the floorboards by the wall. Once again ignoring Dipper’s remark, he picked it when his back was turned, setting it discreetly into a peculiar, twisted vase, one of the only things in the room aside from the liquor bottles that looked clean for some reason. There. That livened up the room a bit.

“Onto the living room!” Spinning around on the ball of his foot he turns down the hallway, leading Wirt into the small den. The walls were decorated with a blue tartan wallpaper that seemed to be ripped in a lot of places, almost as if something had clawed at them. There was a single old armchair surrounded by soda cans and discarded chip bags. After kicking them out of the way, Dipper looks back at Wirt, hoping the guy didn’t notice how much of a mess the place was.

“One of the greatest wonders in Gravity Falls is located in this very room. And that would be…” Trying to come up with some eccentric backstory for his living room he scratches his head, zoning in on a particular stain on the carpet. Pointing at it he moves closer to it and crouches down. The stain was a faded pink. It was from some jelly falling out of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Wirt didn’t have to know that.

“Is it jelly or is it blood? It’s a mystery!” Actually, that sounded a lot cooler in his head than when it come out of his mouth. Laughing at himself he looks up at Wirt and furrows his brows with a faltering smile.

“I’m running out of ideas here. How about I save the cheesy mystery-man stuff for the fake attractions?”

“You mean to say what you were showing weren’t the actual fake attractions?” Wirt teased, leaning against the doorway as he observed the man. Really, he didn’t care much for the attractions themselves. Not to say that they weren’t interesting, not at all - he definitely found himself quite entertained by the bizarre collection. But the real attraction - cliché it was - was Dipper, especially in the way he got so excited while showing him around. He’d expect that working as a tour guide in his own home would get boring and draining, yet here he was, eager to let him into his life. It spoke volumes to Wirt.

Dipper approaches Wirt at a casual pace, sort of pausing to look at him as they stood together in the doorway. It was hard to explain, but standing there in complete silence felt totally okay with Dipper. Maybe it was weird and all in his head, but looking into Wirt’s pallid eyes made him feel comfortable, like they had been meant to be together for a while now. Dipper felt as if he had seriously been missing out on something up until meeting Wirt.

How corny was that? Geez, he needed to get a hold of himself.

The tour continues, and as time went on Dipper began to feel pretty confident in his ability to woo Wirt. Putting on a show for him, Dipper goes through his entire routine of guiding him through the museum portion of the shack, even going as far as comedically marking up prices like his uncle used to do. Part of the Mystery Shack’s reputation was how overpriced it was for what it was. Grunkle Stan used to say that was part of the place’s charm.

The reviews on the internet begged to differ.

After giving Wirt a runover of the gift shop and a free souvenir of his choice (because the guy deserved compensation for putting up with him) he leads him upstairs to the attic to show him his room.

“Alright, it’s a huge mess, but here it is.” Pushing open the door he steps off to the side to let Wirt in. Dipper’s room was... _unique,_ for lack of a better word. The sheets from his bed were strewn across the floor along with what seemed like a month's worth of laundry. The room certainly smelled like Dipper (not in a repulsive way - just musky). The bottle of whiskey and shot glass still sat on his nightstand, the sun reflecting off the bottle.

In the corner of the room was an old wooden desk and above it hung a massive corkboard along with various photos and strings that connected certain pictures together, with Dipper’s handwriting scrawled about the board. Surrounding the desk was a plethora of loose sheets of paper, which almost looked like fallen leaves. The desk itself had books stacked up in several tall piles that wobbled, ready topple over any second. Somehow, they never did.

Dipper’s workspace definitely told Wirt a lot about him, that much was certain.

Wirt peeked around the room, this time more hesitant than he had been. A person’s room was the most telling thing about them. Besides, there was always an element of privacy, even secrecy that came with entering someone’s bedroom. Strangely, he didn’t feel out of place.

He found Dipper’s room to be incredibly cozy, despite the mess. Hell, his own apartment back home was never pristine, either. The room smelled good, dizzyingly good if he was honest with himself, though he couldn’t quite explain why. The books and crumpled papers reminded him of his own room in a way, though perhaps with more abandoned mugs of tea instead of bottles of whiskey. Well, every writer needs his amber drink of choice.

Wirt palmed at the little trinket Dipper allowed him to pick out from the gift store (a rather surprising and unexpected but kind action in his mind), a small pine cone carved out of obsidian. It was discreet, just large enough to display and just small enough to hold, a reminder of his visit here, and, by extension, Dipper. He guessed it was the whole “Pines” thing.

Dipper opens up the window to let in some fresh air (and maybe make the smell in his room not as strong). Next, he searches around his room, tossing underwear and socks about, digging in the piles of dirty clothing until he found a small remote. With a high-pitched beep an old stereo in the corner of the room comes to life. Dipper turns down its volume so it was mere background noise. He pauses and listens for a little, deciding to make the calming music just a bit louder. It was hard not to hum along.

Dipper plops down on his bed, sprawling out with a sigh.

“So, that’s my house. Enjoy your tour?” he asks, looking over to Wirt. Dipper hoped he did. He really, _really_ hoped Wirt did.

“Yeah, it was quite the experience. I like looking at different architectural styles, but this one is just so different from anything I’ve seen. I loved it,” he affirmed, trying to emphasize the genuineness of his words. “Mind if I sit?”

“Yeah, go ahead! Take a load off, dude.” Dipper responses, closing his eyes to enjoy the breeze that was coming in through the window.

“Thanks,” he replied, settling down next to Dipper. “Hey, is that Bon Iver?”

“It is!” Dipper confirms, excited that they seemed to have the same music taste. Hopefully. Dipper’s music collection ranged anywhere from folksy indie music to upbeat top forty hits.

“His music tends to be pretty relaxing, so I listen to it while I try to get to sleep at night.”

The keyword was _“try”_.

“Yeah, it’s wonderful for calm evenings,” Wirt agreed, falling back on his elbows beside Dipper. Usually, he felt awkward whenever he was in someone’s room for the first time, but he felt incredibly at ease here beside Dipper. He closed his eyes, swaying ever so slightly with the song. The afternoon sunlight peeking through the tiny gaps of the thick, purpling clouds illuminated the entire room in a warm orange glaze, making the dancing dust motes light up like embers above a campfire. The distinctive twittering of a rufous-sided towhee broke through the quiet din of the forest. 'Peaceful' alone wasn’t enough to describe just how calm Wirt felt.

While looking up at the ceiling Dipper smiles to himself, letting out a long, relaxed sigh. Resting his hands on his stomach he becomes motionless, taking in the silence with calmness that he usually could never find. The chilly air nipped against his bare feet that hung off his bedside, the music accompanying  the breeze soothingly. Dipper didn’t feel the need to look at Wirt to gauge his reaction anymore. Maybe it was because he felt confident around him, comfortable, at home.

Wirt wasn’t some stranger - he was a friend.

“Do you ever just think to yourself, "man, this is one of those moments that make a memory"? Like everything else you experience on a day-to-day basis becomes so blurred, but I really feel like this is something that I’ll recall for a while. That this moment’s always going to be as vivid as the day I experienced it.”

Dipper tended to be a high-tension guy, and in all honesty, he didn’t know how to relax on command or at all really. But for the first time in a long time his heart-rate slowed and all of his anxious thoughts melted away. Even though he had just met Wirt, he felt like he had known him his whole life.

“Ah, sorry, that probably sounds weird. I’m just kinda thinking out loud, man. What I’m trying to say is I’m having a good time hanging out,” Dippers cheeks flush and he sits up abruptly, snapping out of his trance.

 _That sounded kind of gay,_ Wirt thinks, but bites his tongue.

Mostly because he feels the same way.

“Me too,” Wirt smiles. “I think I’m going to remember this evening for a long time.”


	3. Interlude

**Mizar**

It was almost midnight when Wirt finally said his goodbyes to Dipper. He didn’t particularly want to leave, but he figured it would be best to let Dipper sleep. They had been on their feet most of the day. Besides, they made plans for tomorrow anyways.

He wondered if there was something more implied behind “just grabbing food and hanging out.”

By the time he returned to the hotel the clouds that had threatened to pour all evening finally sprung a leak. A silver sheen clung to his coat as he tugged it off, hanging it over a chair to dry. He flopped back onto his bed, not even bothering to turn the lights on, exhausted not only from walking all day, but from the frazzled nerves and overwhelming emotions of interacting with Dipper.

_Dipper._

He didn't understand why the man sent his thoughts into spirals of confusion and poetry. His rough nature, peculiar mannerisms, and uncouth looks were certainly unlike those that typically stirred the strings of his heart, but this man plucked at them as though he were a virtuoso.

Wirt closed his eyes, and the memories from the day flashed before him. All he could see was _him_ , his hunched shoulders, his chestnut locks, the scars and wounds that crosshatched his skin, each mark with its own story. His voice echoed in his thoughts, a raspy river of words.

His pants were starting to get to tight.

Reddening upon realization, Wirt rolled onto his side, ashamed. He's only been talking to the guy for one day. The audacity that such thoughts had, squirming into his mind at such a time!

And yet he _couldn't_ focus on anything else. Those eyes, that sparkled like the fertile earth of fall that promised a bountiful harvest, with raindrops glimmering at the surface amidst the rows of crops. They held humor, sarcasm, and just the slightest trace of infatu-

Well, it _has_ been a while since he...

Glancing to make sure the blinds were indeed closed, he palms himself through his pants halfheartedly, almost hoping that he wouldn't react.

How stupid was he? The only thing _to_ expect was a reaction.

Since he was on the top floor, the sound of rain was quite distinct. As it intensified, the branches of the conifers growing close to the hotel scraped at the roof, caught in the growing gusts of wind.

Hastily now, he undid the button on his jeans and quickly tugged them off, tossing them off the bed. He started rubbing through his boxers, but decided that the room was too cold, and instead slid underneath the fluffy covers. This felt more discreet anyways. Wirt reached over to the nightstand, pulling out a small bottle of vaseline from a drawer. Wirt began to stroke himself slowly, his fingers slick from the lube. He bit his lip; God, his fingers were so cold.

He couldn't get Dipper out of his thoughts. Those broad shoulders, thick arms pinning his own skinny wrists over his head.

He gasped softly at the sudden mental image, but the pounding rain muted any sounds that bubbled up on his lips.

Wirt's hand was no longer his as he dissociated into his fantasy. It was now Dipper stroking him, each touch, each flick calculated, precise, _perfect_. His eyes, glimmering with mischief and lust, fixed upon Wirt's, almost hypnotic in the way they were seductively half-lidded.

Wirt rolled onto his back, hand moving faster now.

With the image of Dipper's mouth on his dick, he couldn't help but let out a strangled moan. He rubbed his hand in sync to his fantasy, hips twitching in rhythm to it as well.

The storm outside brewed, raindrops hitting the roof like the dry, opaque grains of rice in a tin can.

In his mind's eye, Dipper's lips were on his, both exploring the uncharted territory of each other's bodies. For once, Wirt was happy that his imagination was so vivid; it was almost as though the man was right there with him.

An unsavory thought whispered into his ear, calling him a creep, a faggot, a hopeless, disgusting fool. He banished it with a buck of his hips, and another wave of pleasure rocked through his body. A good amount of precum was leaking from him already.

The covers, along with the button-down and sweater that he was too lazy to remove, were beginning to heat up, uncomfortably so, but he ignored it, deciding that there was nothing wrong with warmth. At least his hand wasn't cold anymore.

The covers were so soft, so cozy, so safe, like puffy storm clouds enveloping him.

The rain seemed to shy away for a few moments, quieting to a soft pitter-patter, only to return at full force without warning, pounding relentlessly. Wirt noted this, his senses heightened. It wasn't as though he was going to get caught now, but he had grown used to being aware of every single sound in the house while masturbating.

His hand was rubbing faster now as he felt the familiar jolt signaling release grow in his gut. His hips jerked erratically, and his wrist was starting to ache.

_Dipper._

His thumb passed over the head of his cock. That certainly did not contribute to the growing roughness of his movements.

_Dipper._

How he longed to have the man with him, right next to him, stroking him, hands traveling down his flesh, teeth grazing his neck.

"Dipper."

Wirt moaned the name softly; it flowed perfectly from his tongue. Everything about it seemed _right_.

His mind was going haywire. He couldn't hold a coherent thought apart from the image of Dipper, for whom he internally melted into a sappy, drooling mess anyways. He mumbled the name over and over in breathy moans, not really sure why he was so compelled to do so except that it seemed natural.

A gasp, a thrust, and his thoughts went blank for a few moments as he came, pleasure jolting through his entire body. He flopped back, chest rising heavily as he drifted down from his high. Somehow, that absolutely exhausted him, and his eyes were closing on their own.

He was going to see Dipper again tomorrow, he thinks with a smile as he lies back with his eyes closed, content despite feeling a little flustered about having just fantasized so vividly. Eh, he was allowed to self-indulge once in a while, right?

He tucked himself away into his boxers, and fell asleep within moments, lulled by his exhaustion and the rain still drumming away on the roof, albeit quieter than it had been.

\--

When he awoke, it was still raining, though he didn't find out until he opened the blinds. It was a quiet, gray day, and the little town seemed at ease. He slumped over to the mirror, only to realize he was still in his sweater and button-down. And boxers. Well, that was undignified.

The memory of last night fluttered back into his thoughts, and he walked back over to the bed, turning over the covers. _Of course_ he forgot to clean up after himself.

He bunched the sheets up, praying room service would take care of it without noticing, before starting to get ready for the day.

* * *

  **Alcor**

Blankly staring up at the ceiling, Dipper listens to the pitter-patter of rain against his window. His room was much darker than usual and not even the soft glow of moonlight provided him with light. Not with the storm brewing outside. Shifting under his covers, he turns on his side, emptily looking at the bottle of whiskey sitting on his nightstand.  
  
Out of habit he reaches out for the bottle, pausing with a slight twitch of his fingertips, as if drawing closer to it burned him like fire. No. Not tonight. Dipper never _craved_ to drink. The last thing he wanted to do was drown his sorrows in hopes of finding sleep.

But he did anyway.

Night after night he depended on the burning booze to sliver down his throat and warm his gut, numb his mind and paralyze his thoughts. Dipper chuckles to himself, musing over how poetic his thoughts had become as of late. That may have been due to Wirt’s influence.

_Wirt._

Dipper sighs like a schoolgirl at the name alone. Life in Gravity Falls had been inherently lonely - it was expected living in the middle of nowhere and all. There weren’t a lot of people around his age that lived in the city and the ones that did, well, they weren’t really his type. Dipper had attempted to date a few people here and there but they had all been some poor attempt to keep himself from going insane. He wasn’t proud of that.

Wirt had felt so much _different_ , though.

Dipper was intrigued by Wirt, genuinely interested in Wirt, _obsessed_ with Wirt. Thinking of him made Dipper want to actually get up in the morning, seeing him made Dipper happy, listening to him speak wasn't a chore. Even though Wirt was quiet, it didn’t matter, when he spoke he said things Dipper _wanted_ to hear. Dipper liked listening to him. Dipper liked looking at him. Dipper liked everything about him.

He had a crush. So what - _right_? Dipper was human. He was allowed to crush on people from time to time.

Wirt was a pretty big crush.

Dipper liked how tall he was. How soft his hair looked. How gentle his eyes were. How he got flustered easily. How he always seemed eager to come along with him and listen to his ramblings. Wirt _actually_ seemed to like being around him. A nagging voice in the back of Dipper’s mind tells him that he was imagining things, that he had finally lost his mind to think someone like Wirt would be interested in him. Dipper disregards that voice.

Gulping down a lump in his throat he slowly trails his hand down his stomach, his breath shallow as he pushes past the elastic of his boxers. If he wasn’t going to drink to fall asleep _this_ was his other option. Besides, thinking of Wirt had sort of made him hard.

Dipper was a guy. Boners happened.

Giving himself a few initial strokes he pauses and haphazardly reaches over to open up his nightstand drawer. Fishing around with one hand he keeps his other hand on his dick, not willing to put all his effort into finding a pesky bottle of lube. When Dipper finally grabs it he squirts a generous amount into his hand. With a wet shlicking sound he starts to stroke himself, lying down on his back as he does so.

Thunder rolls in the distance and Dipper strokes himself faster, oscillating into his hand enthusiastically. His eyes slip shut and he bites down on his lower lip to keep himself from making embarrassing sounds, despite having nobody to hide it from. Maybe it was out of habit from all those teenage years of trying not to wake any family members while he jacked off.

Or maybe Dipper really didn’t want to hear himself moaning, not when it was _his_ name.

Cheeks flushing at the mere thought of thrusting into Wirt, Dipper flips around so he was on his stomach. With his sheets bunched up beneath him Dipper thrusts into them, thoughts of Wirt panting underneath him floating around in his head.

Clutching onto the blanket with a squeeze he begins to vigorously thrust against his bed, which squeaks loudly. Somehow that only arouses Dipper further as he entertains the thought of fucking Wirt in his hotel room. Dipper gets off on the idea of getting caught, and it makes his stomach leap in anticipation.

This was a new low, masturbating to some guy he hadn’t even known for more than two weeks. At least it couldn’t get much worse from here - right?

So he was human garbage, what was new?

“W-wirt,” Dipper huffs, his voice low and nearly hoarse sounding. Imagining Wirt calling his name back and begging for more, Dipper obliges, pounding into his bed passionately, wrapping his arms around his sheets and pillows, pretending they were Wirt.

What pushes him over the edge, strangely enough, is the thought of Wirt telling him he loved him.

With a single jagged thrust Dipper orgasms against his blankets, making a complete mess of his bed in the process. In too much of a haze to clean up, he lies there, his chest rising and falling as he attempts to regain his breath. Giving himself a few post-orgasm strokes, Dipper blankly stares at the wall.

They were going to hang out tomorrow.

Dipper felt sick.

 


	4. Mezereon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Yet why, immortal, vital spark! ___  
>  _Thus mortally opprest? ___  
>  _Look up, my soul, through prospects dark, ___  
>  _And bid thy terrors rest; ___  
>  _Forget, forego thy earthly part, ___  
>  _Thine heavenly being trust: — ___  
>  _Ah, vain attempt! my coward heart ___  
>  _Still shuddering clings to dust. ___  
> From "On Receiving a Branch of Mezereon Which Flowered at Woodstock," December 1809  
>  by Mary Tighe

Sunrise in Gravity Falls didn’t mean much for the small town. Stores typically opened around nine in the morning, meaning daybreak was a time of rest for the small city. But for one scruffy, sleep-deprived man the sun coming up only meant one thing.

He was another hour closer to seeing Wirt.

Panicked to the point of where he felt like was choking on his heart, Dipper tries to get his mind off what was in store for the day ahead of him. But any attempts to stop thinking of Wirt only made him think of the man _more_. He opens up his closet, grimacing when he realizes all his clothes were exact replicas of each other. Dipper didn’t have a problem with that, but did Wirt? It was the same red flannel day in and day out, with _maybe_ a different undershirt if he was feeling it. If he dressed differently would it impress Wirt or disappoint him? Maybe his trademark plaid was part of his charm. Maybe it wasn’t charming at all.

Dipper had never felt more screwed in his life.

Once he had picked out his clothes (yes, the flannel) he groomed himself, or at least semi-groomed. At least he showered, that needed to be done for the last week or so. As soon as he was dressed, he freezes mid-tying his shoes. Dipper’s heart stops when he realizes he had forgotten a very important detail.

He was supposed to pick out where they were going to go.

Oh _shit_ , he had promised to take Wirt somewhere cool.

But all of the coolest places were the most dangerous! There was no way he was going to take Wirt somewhere where he could get hurt, or at least not where the risk of getting hurt was high. Technically, Wirt could get hurt wherever they went, right? So he didn’t need to overthink it. Maybe he could take Wirt to a semi-dangerous place. Wait, no, that was still bad. No danger. Danger would be bad.

Pacing his room from one end to another Dipper chews on a pen, his other hand occasionally reaching up to scratch his head as he tries to think of a game plan of some type. Normally he couldn’t sleep, but he _really_ couldn’t sleep knowing he would be seeing Wirt again. Not only that, it was a _date_. Was it a date? No, it wasn’t a date. They were just hanging out. As friends. Just friends.

They were just friends.

Finding himself mumbling “ _we’re just friends_ ” like a mantra, Dipper stops moving, dropping his pen when an idea finally hit him. Some stereotypical date wouldn’t be enough, no, they needed something _spectacular_.

Snagging his journal off his desk he flips through the pages hurriedly, looking for a very specific page he remembered seeing a while back. When Dipper finds it he places the book down on the table, running his hand over the illustration on the entry. Not only did he find the perfect place to take Wirt, but there would be a _purpose_ to their trip there. Grinning from ear to ear Dipper triumphantly puts his hands on his hips, staring at the illustration.

“ _Perfect_.”

\--

Double checking his phone for the tenth time he sits outside the inn, waiting for Wirt to come out. Dipper had offered to meet him at his room but Wirt had assured him that it would be fine to meet outside. What if he had misheard Wirt? Should he call him to make sure he wasn’t supposed to go inside? Did he get the time wrong? Was it too early?

Or even worse, too _late?_

Whenever someone walks outside of the hotel entrance, Dipper’s head shoots up to look at whoever it was, hoping it would be Wirt each time the door opened. Instead he ends up looking like some pathetic moping puppy in a parking lot waiting for his owner to return to the car. Speaking of cars, Dipper wondered if his car was okay. It was Grunkle Stan’s old 1965 convertible: El Diablo. As a kid it ran poorly, and well, ten years later it was still doing pretty bad, if not _worse_. The exhaust spewed smog that could kill small creatures and the landau roof honestly looked like it was about to fly off, or maybe even cave in.

But hey, it was a convertible. That was a plus, right?

_Right?_

Dread sinks in Dipper’s stomach as he runs through all the possibilities. No matter how positive he tried to be, he still somehow found his thoughts edging back to the anxious worries that kept him up at night.

Well, the _nightmares_ were what really kept him up at night, but anxious thoughts were a close runner-up.

* * *

Sweater? No, too warm. He was already sweating.

Button-down? Too formal.

Wirt opened the window, and was hit with a blast of cold air. Never mind. Perhaps he should go with both.

After tugging the navy cable-knit sweater over a white-collared shirt, he darts over to the bathroom for the tenth time to make sure his hair was still in place. It had an unflattering habit of sticking up awkwardly in the back, and he didn't want to look like a mess for his date.

He slapped a hand to his face. _It wasn't a date_ , he reminded himself for what must have been the fiftieth time. He’s been slipping up in his thoughts far too often recently. They were just two guys hanging out, exploring the area.

Exploring was what Dipper said they were going to do, right?

He let out a haggard sigh, glancing at the clock. Twenty minutes until his date. Hanging out. Whatever it was. He really wasn’t sure at this point. Maybe it would be a date. Maybe they would hold hands and watch the sunset and kiss.

Or maybe they would just enjoy each other’s company like two dudes who recently made an acquaintance would. Nothing to see here, keep moving.

Oh, how his thoughts were torturing him! He walks up to the window, leaning his forehead on the cool glass surface as he observes the rain-heavy clouds rolling through the heavens.

“Between the gold-dipped giants of the land, my thoughts began to slip away like sand, until your presence graced my humble being, and-” he whispered, then stopped himself. Once again, the poetry was spilling out of him like a crack in a dam. He already had ten pages in his moleskine of little bits and pieces of poems that came to him during his stay here that were all more or less inspired by Dipper.

There was no use denying it. He had it bad. He was absolutely enamored, and he could do nothing about it.

Ten minutes.

Did he really have to suffer in waiting for another ten minutes? For some reason, he felt incredibly anxious about this, a heavy weight compressing his chest and making it difficult for him to breathe. His heart fluttered, and he felt like a high-schooler all over again.

Until he glanced at the clock, and went rigid.

_He had misread the numbers earlier._

_Oh no_ , he thought. Now he was running late. He could have _sworn_ the digital clock read twenty minutes past the hour, but it was already ten thirty. Quickly throwing his shoes on, he practically trips down the stairs as he makes his way down. Before he exits the inn, he takes a breath, composing himself.

He’ll be fine.

Just two dudes, hanging out.

Wirt opens the door, and heads over to the antique car that was parked along the curb, wondering where the day was going to take them.

Was Dipper supposed to get out of the car to greet Wirt? Wouldn’t that be weird, though? Wirt was sort of halfway to the car already, it would be totally awkward. Dipper shuffles around in his seat, trying to decide whether he was going to get out of the car or not.

Finally deciding he was going to get out, he opens the door and tries to rise, only to feel a tight constriction around his gut. Of course he forgot to take off his seatbelt, _of course_. By the time Dipper unbuckles his seatbelt Wirt is already standing at the driver’s side of the car. Looking up to him he gives a little wave, mentally slapping himself.

There was no way he would top the amount of dorkiness he just managed.

“Hey,” his voice cracks and he clears his throat. Cheeks heating up in a sudden flare, Dipper repeats himself, hoping Wirt didn’t hear the squeak that was his original greeting. Why the hell was his voice still cracking? He had gone through puberty years ago!

“Mornin’,” Wirt greeted, holding back a laugh. He really didn’t think Dipper would appreciate it if he brought up his voice wavering. He circles the car, getting into the passenger seat. “Sorry I was a bit late, got, uh, caught up with a few things.”

“No, no, it’s cool! Uh, how’d you sleep?” Was that a normal thing to ask a person? Did that come off as intrusive? Oh crap, what if Wirt wanted to know how _he_ slept too? Dipper instantly regrets speaking at all.

“Fine, actually,” Wirt answers. A little memory from the night before passes through his thoughts, but he shoves it back into the depths of his mind where it belongs. “You?”

Dipper pauses a little bit longer than he should have.

“I slept fine,” he lies.

When Dipper starts up his vehicle it sounds something like a horse with tuberculosis. The sound it made was just plain _sick_ , like the car was begging to be put out of its misery. The engine grumbles and purrs audibly, obviously working overtime to operate in general. Reaching over Wirt he dives his hand into the glove box, which seemed to have nothing but tapes of various colors. Muttering out a “sorry” he grabs an orange cassette and hastily shoves it into the tape player.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

 _He’s so close to me,_ Wirt thinks, feeling his heartbeat rise a little.

Eying the tape curiously, he asks, “Is that a cassette player? I haven’t seen one used in ages.”

“Yeah! I’d have a CD player or something more advanced but this car is such an old piece of junk it would be a waste to invest money into it,” Dipper says, turning around in his seat to check behind him as he reverses. In the back of his mind, he reminds himself to drive safer than usual for Wirt’s sake.

“CD’s are overrated. I used to record tapes. Way more straightforward than anything else,” Wirt fondly (though not without a tinge of embarrassment) recalls all the nights he spent making those things. “What year is this make?”

“1965,” he says with a choked out chuckle. Dipper really hoped Wirt didn’t notice that the thing was ready to break down. No, he probably did. As if to mask the terrible sounds the car made, he turns up the volume of the music a little.

“So where are we headed?” Wirt inquired, gaze flickering between the leafy woods scrolling by outside and Dipper’s determined expression.

“I can tell you where we’re going... _or_ it can be a surprise. Your choice.” Flashing his gaze at Wirt for a second the man smirks, looking a tad bit mischevious. Was Dipper Pines flirting? The world may never know.

“A surprise, then?” Wirt smirks. A surprise? That sounded a bit like- no, this still wasn’t a date. Probably.

Loud chanting suddenly blared from the speakers, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Oh, hey, is that ‘Hooked on a Feeling?’ Good song,” he nodded approvingly.

Dipper nods back, “Yeah, I like it too. That’s probably obvious, though, because it’s on my tape. That I made. But you know, it’s, uhm,” Dipper falls silent and keeps driving, deciding it would be better to just shut up.

_...I'm high on believing, that you're in love with me…_

_Yeah,_ Dipper thinks to himself, _I am._

Though the conversation falters, Wirt is content to listen to the song in silence as he watches the leafy woods scroll by. Well, for a little while, at least. He couldn’t resist a good song.

“Got a bug from you, girl,” he hums along. “But I don’t need no cure…”

Hearing Wirt softly sing along to the song almost shocks Dipper at first. Double checking to make sure he wasn’t hearing things, he looks away from the road a few times to take a quick peek at Wirt. Definitely singing along.

Well, when in Rome.

“All the good love, when we’re all alone,” Dipper joins in, singing a little louder than Wirt, a wide grin plastered across his face. Turning up the music louder, the car’s speakers sound like they’re ready to blow, despite the volume not being terribly high.

“Keep it up girl, yeah you turn me on,” Wirt grins back, blushing a little at the line.

In unison, they sing the chorus of the song, although it was more like melodic yelling than it was singing. As the song ends, they burst into laughter, whatever tension they had between them earlier nearly gone.

Still smiling widely, Wirt gazed at Dipper, observing him fondly. Earlier, the man had seemed so tense, so tired, but now he couldn’t tear his eyes off of the beaming guy next to him. His posture and grip on the wheel became more relaxed and natural, at ease. There was an irresistible charm about him, and Wirt found himself in the very state the song described - he was hooked.

“Hold on.” Making a sudden sharp turn they’re going off the main path, down a jagged road that made the car hop up and down like a jackhammer. Safe to say the car’s suspension was terrible; El Diablo was not meant for off-road driving. Dipper did it anyway. The trees started to rush by dangerously close to the vehicle, twigs and leaves scraping at the windows as they drove by. Perhaps he should have been driving slower, but he had been down paths that were much worse without _much_ trouble. Dipper slams on the breaks to a sudden stop, the car inches from crashing into a massive weeping willow.

Wirt grips the chair tightly, gritting his teeth. Confident that the car was no longer moving, he slowly lets go, then hesitantly unclips his seat belt.

After unbuckling his own seat belt, Dipper reaches over to the back seat of the car, grabbing his overstuffed messenger bag. It was better to be over-prepared rather than not prepared at all, he figured. The journals took up most of the room in his bag, but he also had a few other bulky tools that he brought along with him, such as rope, a pocket knife, and a miniature first-aid kid.

Dipper had brought both the second and third journal with him, but left the first at home. Having all three in the same place could spell bad news, in fact, having just two of them together was sort of risky. Although he had practically memorized the contents of the books by now, they were good to have just in case.

He also packed sandwiches. Dipper would say it was a picnic, but honestly the food he made wasn’t all that pleasant. They were just ham and cheese sandwiches - the bare minimum of lunch food. Emergency rations was more of a fitting term, probably. Not that he thought they would need them! Just in case.

Dipper always planned for the “just in case” situations.

Exiting the car, the two walk over to the the sprawling willow, perched precariously on the edge of a cliff. A barely-present trail cut a hardly traversable, narrow ‘Z’ down the otherwise steep decline, which was covered in thick, thorny foliage that sparkled with the dew gathered on its fleshy leaves. Thick ferns hugged the path, while the smooth stones jutting out of the ground sported a thick layer of shaggy moss. The bottom of the trench was shrouded in darkness, and Wirt could make out the pitch-black maw of a cave. A light fog hung in the air, hiding the canopies of the trees and giving the sense of an endless forest.

Wirt felt a twinge of nervousness from the sight of the towering conifers, and subconsciously took a step closer to Dipper.

The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by the young adventurer. Offering him a comforting smile, he rummages through his bag and pulls out two flashlights. Dipper hands one to Wirt.

“Don’t be scared, I promise you’re going to love it,” he reassures him, his gaze encouraging, but most of all protective.

Wirt gave a small, anxious smile, but deep down found himself regaining a shred of security, confident in Dipper’s words. “I’m sure I will. The view is stunning.”

“If you think this is cool, wait till we get inside the cave,” Getting a few paces ahead of Wirt, he carefully navigates the uneven terrain.

The pair begins picking their way down the slope, treading carefully along the path, the dirt moist from the frequent rains. Unfortunately, the last stretch of the trail was a bit steeper than the rest, and Wirt lost his footing, tripping forward and slamming straight into Dipper, knocking them both to the ground on the bottom of the trench, Wirt landing on top of the man.

Wirt flushed at their closeness. “Oh my god, sorry, I, uh, stumbled. Didn’t expect the incline to drop like that.”

Staring up at Wirt, Dipper's heart skips a beat, his mouth suddenly feeling really dry. Searching for the right words to say, he stammers, trapped underneath the lengthy man who almost had an entire foot on him height-wise. Giving him a once over, he turns his head away and clears his throat. If he kept looking at Wirt hovering over him he was going to get thoughts he rather not have.

Dipper had enough of them last night.

“It’s okay, it’s muddy around here. Just be careful, alright?” Dipper warns, accepting his apology. His thoughts begin to enter the territory he feared they would drift towards. Dipper imagined grabbing Wirt by the collar of his sweater to pull him in for a passionate, rough kiss. Making out right there in the mud, he could care less where they were. Wirt breaking away from his embrace to say his name, his eyes half-lidded and lusty, Wirt _wanting_ him, Wirt wanting to –

“Y-yeah. Sorry. I’ll be more careful,” Wirt frowns, hesitating for just a heartbeat. He could so easily lean down a few inches and kiss Dipper, right then and there. That’s what people did in the movies, right?

Instead, he pulls away, rising quickly. He offers Dipper a hand, helping him up before resuming their path towards the entrance of the cavern.

“So, how did you find out about this cave? This is a really out-of-the-way spot,” Wirt noted, running his hand over the sanded walls of the cave. Odd, circular scratch marks were engraved here or there, but he couldn’t tell if they were natural formations or symbols. Probably just the weathering of stone, he figured.

“The journal has a page on it. To be honest, those books are how I find out about most things in Gravity Falls. That or I run into them,” Flashing his light up to the ceiling of the cavern he startles himself to see bats hanging from the walls. Making sure to not keep the light on them too long, he directs the flashlight forward again, each step he takes cautious yet curious. As they traveled further into the cave, the light from the outside world faded away, their flashlights becoming their sole guide. With darkness came paranoia for the young adventurer. Dipper wanted to hold Wirt’s hand, just to make sure he was close if anything happened. To make sure he was safe.

Wirt stuck close to Dipper, making sure he was always within a step of him. This part of the cave was wide and open, but it was impossible to see anything outside of the beams of light from their flashlights.

After a few minutes of walking, Wirt found himself able to relax and enjoy his surroundings. Truly, what did he have to worry about? He was with Dipper, who wouldn’t drag him needlessly into any sort of danger, and even if there was, he probably knew what to do. He swept his flashlight over the walls, landing on stalactites spun out of stone and moisture. Slabs of exposed quartz glittered when the light hit the mineral, reflecting in tiny rainbows upon the rocks.

Swallowed by the darkness of the cave, the illumination from the outside world has completely vanished, put out like a flame. Even their flashlights provided little help with visibility; the blackness was so thick it was as if they had stepped into an abyss. A thick fog shrouds them and it grows frigid, the temperature dropping at least another ten degrees. If what Dipper had read was right, they needed to do something very risky if they wanted to continue.

“Turn off your flashlight,” Dipper says, already flicking off the switch on his. It seemed like an insane thing to do.

Maybe it was.

Moving a few inches closer to Wirt, he can feel the warmth between their bodies, he can hear the anxious shudder in Wirt’s breath. Lit by the warmness of Wirt’s light, he waits, his expression serious. Anticipation made him shake, adrenaline pumps through his heart. What if something went wrong?

No, the journal was _never_ wrong.

Upon Dipper's request, Wirt felt a wave of fear course through his entire being. The light was currently the only thing grounding him, and he hesitated for a few long moments before switching it off. He shifted nearer to Dipper, only to find him closer than he thought he would be, his shoulder pressing against the man's back. _Oh God, they were so close._ Something in Wirt compelled him to move even closer to him. The warmth radiating from Dipper soothed him slightly. Despite being so worried, he found this remarkably nice.

He felt Dipper tense against him, and Wirt's breath caught in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Dipper's midriff and rest his chin on his shoulder, to just stand there in the darkness and silence and revel in each others mere presence.

Instead, he simply asked, "Why'd we need to turn the lights off?"

Before Dipper could answer, the cave flares up with a luminous blue glow, revealing the stunning landscape ahead of them. The light came from large toadstools that were growing about the cavern, some even looking like they were as tall as Wirt, if not taller. Fireflies flutter around like specs of dust, their glow unnaturally cerulean as well. Off to the side of the grotto was a waterfall and a small pond, the water was clear and clean - entirely untouched by humankind.

“Does that answer your question?” Dipper answers, chuckling as Wirt’s jaw dropped at the sight. Giving his arm a playful shove, Dipper runs ahead into the small clearing that came before the body of water. Thousands of periwinkles sprouted from the ground, growing like weeds, it seemed. With a carefree call, his voice echoes against the cavern walls. Letting himself fall backwards, his back hits the ground with a thud, not quite realizing the flowerbed wasn’t all that soft. It always seemed like people did it in the movies; Dipper had no clue why he thought that would transition well to real life. He lies there and looks up at the fireflies. It was easy to pretend they were stars.

Wirt watches the glowing scene that unfurls before him, simply dumbfounded. “Y-yeah, that does,” he managed weakly. The fancy CGI of today’s movies didn’t come close to the splendor of the nature here. Even when Dipper ran ahead, he couldn’t bring himself to move just yet.

Eventually he made his way over to Dipper, settling down on his back beside him to watch the fireflies flit overhead.

They were mere inches apart. It would be so easy to close the distance between them. He turns his head, looking over at Dipper. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing. It feels more like a dream than anything.”

“It is pretty unreal,” Dipper comments, turning his head to look at Wirt. They both fall silent again, but there was nothing strange or unnatural about it. Looking into Wirt’s eyes, Dipper’s breathing slows and he thinks about moving closer to kiss him; it would be the perfect moment to. It was like a scenario that only happened in movies, the beautiful romantic scene where everything fell into place perfectly.

Alas, Dipper’s life was not a corny movie.

Breaking the trance Wirt’s eyes had put him in, he sits up and reaches for his bag, his expression looking a bit forlorn. Pulling out one of the journals he flips to a bookmarked page, taking a quick look at what was an illustration of a peculiar mushroom. Before Wirt could say anything about it, he closes the book and returns it to the sack.

There was said to be a mushroom in the cavern that when consumed could cure even the worst insomnia. It was a possible remedy for him, a means to finally sleep regularly again. Hopefully he would find it while they were there. Falling back into the flowers he returns to laying down. They could stay there for a little while longer, they weren’t in any hurry.

As much as Wirt was entranced by the cavern, after a while he found his attention shifting more and more to the man laying there beside him. He watched his chest rise with every breath, watched his lashes flutter with each blink, took note of how he folded his hands over his chest. Wirt knew he was staring for too long, but he simply couldn't look away.

"The jewel past the glass holds the magpie transfixed, a breath apart, but for a barrier betwixt," he mutters before he could stop himself. He freezes instantaneously; Dipper was going to think he was strange, weird. Maybe Dipper didn't hear him, if he was lucky.

No, Dipper _totally_ heard him. With a bemused smirk and a quirk of his eyebrows he looks over at the man.

“Huh? What’d you say?” Dipper asks, unsure if he had heard him right. From what he could tell, Wirt had been reciting poetry of some type. Knowing that he was a writer, it was entirely possibly that was the case. Shuffling his position so he was laying on his side, he props up his head with his hand and looks over at Wirt expectantly.

 _Crap, he heard,_ Wirt thinks. _Maybe if I explain myself he would be understanding. He is a writer, after all._ “Sometimes I, uh, think of lines of poetry and it just sort of comes out, I guess. It’s weird, I know,” his voice quavers, and he flinches. Why did he even bother with an explanation? He could have just said it was nothing, people used that excuse all the time. Wow. Was that  _really_  the first thing that came to mind?

“It’s not weird,” Dipper comforts, seeing that Wirt was obviously distressed by his blunder. Not even realizing he was leaning closer to the man, he’s tempted to reach out for him. But he doesn’t. There were so many words that rest on the tip of his tongue, so many things he wanted to do, but Dipper restrained himself.

They were just friends.

“You should keep going, I liked it.” Encouraging him with a friendly nudge he anticipates Wirt’s words, genuinely interested in his work.

“I-I think that’s all I had, for now,” Wirt sighs untruthfully, glancing away. He kicked himself mentally - of all the impulsive habits he could have been struck with it had to be something so embarrassing. Truly, he could keep going for stanzas. Maybe he should. It would be like one of those silly romantic movies. To Hell with it, what did he have to lose?

“Actually, I think I might have another line or two.” Lies, all of it, but he wasn’t about to dump an entire ode on Dipper. Too many words meant it would be easier to figure out his underlying feelings through them, though part of him prayed Dipper would catch on. “But simple birds aren’t meant for gemstones, their splendour is reserved for gods, but still the magpie looks on vainly; perhaps the glass will melt one day.”

Then he recalled Dipper’s words, and a look of incredulity painted his features.

“Wait, did you just say you liked that?”

“Yeah, of course I did! Why wouldn’t I?” Dipper responded, as if the idea of _not_ liking something Wirt did was blasphemous.

“I-I don’t know,” Wirt looked away. He was never confident in his work, and being in Dipper‘s presence only made him all the more uncertain about it. He turned onto his side, mirroring Dipper’s pose. “Guess I just always presume the worst.”

“Alright, so instead of presuming the worst, humor me with the best case scenario. I won’t judge.”

Wirt is silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on Dipper’s. Best case scenario? Why, the best case scenario would be his poetry spilling from his lips line after line after line, only to have Dipper awed and charmed beyond belief, and once he finished, they would pause for but a heartbeat, only to come together in a passionate kiss, expressing all the emotions they feel for each other in a single gesture.

But that is nothing but a fickle daydream, too good to ever be true. Yet somehow, a wave of boldness, daringness, _something_ flows through him, giving him goosebumps. What if he did that, what if he just went for it?

He pushes out the thought, but still subconsciously wets his lips, leaning in a little closer. “Best case scenario? I don’t know, I don’t really think about those.”

Watching Wirt run his tongue over his chapped lips, Dipper subconsciously mimics the action, closing in the space between them. Without much of a warning he reaches for Wirt’s hand, brushing his fingertips over his wrist hesitantly, as if nonverbally asking for permission to touch him. Averting his gaze for a second, Dipper smiles to himself. Looking back up at Wirt, his lips part; he was nervous to say what was on his mind.

“Well, can I _show_ you the best case scenario?”

With his heart thumping in his ears, the negative thoughts begin to overflow in his mind. Doubt gnaws at his muscles, telling him to stop, _yelling_ at him to stop. Dipper was going to mess up the only friendship he had. It was going to be in shambles after this, never to return to the way it had been before. Everything would come crashing down. But the slow beating of his heart and the warmness in his cheeks numbs his pessimistic thinking, giving him the courage he needed to just  _do_ it. To tell him. To do what he had been thinking of for a while.

What they _both_ had been thinking of, hopefully.

“Sure,” Wirt breathes, his heart pounding wildly. Could it be that Dipper was suggesting what he had been thinking about this entire trip? Would things finally come together as he hoped they would? He leans in a millimeter, trying to still his breathing.

Tilting his head to the side, their lips _almost_ connect, but Dipper suddenly tears himself away from Wirt when he hears an echo in the distance.

A blood curdling screech rings through the cave, followed by the sound of claws scraping along the rocky floor.

Wirt turns his neck, wide-eyed and panicked. “W-what was that?”

“Come on, let’s get outta here,” Dipper chokes out, actually having no clue what that sound was. Scrambling to his feet, he helps Wirt up and starts to run, cringing when their footsteps made a sound loud enough to reverberate against the walls. That was a dead giveaway of their location. They didn’t have time to get out; they needed to hide, and _quick_. Seeing an indentation in the craggy walls, he figures they could squeeze into the tight space - it was out of the way, thus making it a good hiding spot.

Before he can really think about what he’s doing, he pushes Wirt into the tiny hiding spot, stumbling in after him. Bumping into Wirt, he sucks in a breath of air, letting it out slowly past his lips, trying his hardest not to breathe too loud. Their chests were pressed together and they were practically forced into an embrace due to how cramped they were. Putting his hands on Wirt’s chest (in a failed attempt to push him away) Dipper awkwardly averts his eyes.

“I-I’m really sorry, this is weird, I’m _so_ sorry,” Dipper apologizes in a hushed whimper. Trying to adjust himself so he wasn’t pressed against Wirt, he’s surprised by the sudden pleasant friction he creates when he does so. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Not now.

Now was _not_ the time for a boner.

On the outside, Wirt is silent, not wanting to contribute to being found by whatever could have possibly made such a horrifying sound. He was too scared to so much as breathe, let alone adjust into a more comfortable position. The twisted stone behind him pressed uncomfortably into his shoulder, but he could hardly force himself to move.

On the inside, he was screaming.

He was pressed flush against Dipper, their only option to hide, whereas just moments ago closing any sort of distance was like moving mountains. Yet here they were, jammed into a tiny crevice, probably about to get eaten by something terrible. He was very consciously aware of Dipper shifting about, especially when he laid his hands on his chest, and even more so when Dipper’s crotch rubs up against his leg.

Looks like he’s really stuck between a rock and a _hard_ place.

Dipper stops moving, breathing heavily through his nose as if to concentrate. Embarrassment didn’t even begin to describe what he was feeling, no, Dipper was feeling something _beyond_ embarrassment. The heat in his cheeks made his face feel like it was melting, all the while a dense fear for his life curdled in his gut. Being pulled from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other, he gazes up at Wirt, staring into his panicked eyes.

They just had to wait. And listen.

Sweat rolls down Dipper’s back and sticks to his shirt as their exchange of body heat starts to raise his temperature. It was hard to read Wirt, but his expression looked so _stern_ , or maybe that was worry? Dipper couldn’t tell.

Wirt was concentrating on a very particular spot on the wall just to the right of Dipper’s head. Definitely not focused on the fact that they were so close. So very, very close. Not to say that he minded. Not at all, if he was honest. Everything happened way too fast. Was there even anything out there?

He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead, partially from the proximity to Dipper, and partially due to some unknown _thing_ probably crawling around in the caverns. He wanted to ask Dipper if there was any real danger, but he couldn't bring himself to speak.

“I think it’s safe,” Dipper murmurs, wiggling away from Wirt, all while muttering apologies under his breath. Popping out of the cramped space, he takes a careful look around, the caverns soft glow leaving everything fairly illuminated. Turning back to give a thumbs up to Wirt, he smiles.

Wirt breathes out a sigh of relief as Dipper gives him the okay. The inky blackness behind Dipper shifts suddenly.

Wirt's face falls into an expression of sheer terror.

An enormous bioluminescent [raptor](http://sta.sh/01n85j196y2f)-like creature lights up, its long tendrils glowing with the same blue sheen as the rest of the cavern. It hovered mere inches behind Dipper, who was still facing Wirt and was completely oblivious, its toothy, luminous mouth dribbling with saliva.

"D-Dipper," Wirt squeaks, hardly able to make a sound.

“Yeah?” he quirks an eyebrow at Wirt, a smirk plastered on his face. A puff of hot hair rolls down his neck and a creaky growl hisses behind his ears. Too petrified to turn around he stands there, looking at Wirt with a fearful expression. Gulping down a thick lump in his throat, he mouths the word “run” to Wirt before taking the risk to turn around and look at what he was up against.

Face to face with a behemoth, he stares into its glowing eyes, its pupils dilated to mere slits. Exchanging a few seconds of silence with the monster, the air is stagnant, unmoving. Dipper is subconsciously holding his breath. When he's out of air, he gasps and the sudden movement causes the beast to cry out a shrill scream.

Spinning around on his heel he runs towards Wirt, grabbing his hand and giving it a tight squeeze.

This time around, Wirt doesn’t need to be dragged along to actually move. He’s sprinting as fast as his long legs can carry him, nails digging into Dipper’s hand. Behind him, he can hear another unholy screech erupt from the creature’s maw, its teeth gnashing just feet behind them.

How many monsters were there in this forsaken land?

The ground beneath them was uneven, and in their hecticness Wirt caught his foot in a pothole, stumbling and crashing painfully on the rocks.

"Wirt!" Dipper gasps, skidding to a complete stop, his expression full of terror as Wirt whimpers in pain. Oh no, no, _no_. This was all _his_ fault. Wirt was hurt because of _him_ , because he had put him in harms way. How could he let this happen? Dread has a chokehold on Dipper; he felt guilty, but most of all, disgusted with himself.

They were going to die because of him.

Much to Dipper’s relief, Wirt leapt right back up, clamping almost instinctively onto Dipper’s arm. “Y-yeah, I think I’m fine, I might be bleeding but that’s not important, we need to go!” Not waiting for the monster to catch up, they darted off once more.

The raptor easily overtook them, halting in front of them and blocking their path. Without thinking, Dipper tugged Wirt to the side, altering their course into a narrow passage in the wall.

Unfortunately, the inlet cut off twenty feet in.

“O-o-oh no, this is a dead end, we’re screwed, we’re screwed!” Wirt stuttered, hands clawing through his hair.

“No, n-no, it’s fine, we’re fine!” Consoling Wirt failed miserably, Dipper was in just as much of a panic as he was. But Dipper was used to thinking quick and getting himself out of sticky situations; he just had to figure out how he was going to get them out of this one.

“It’s t-too big to get in through here! It’ll get bored and leave, eventually. P-probably!” A nervous laugh weaves its way into his words, despite their situation being nothing to joke about. It was life or death and Dipper really didn’t want their first date to be their last. _If_ it was a date, that is. Darting his eyes around their surroundings, he locks onto a small glowing toadstool on the ground. It was no larger than the palm of his hand and it had a faint lavender aura around it. Drawn in by the glowing fungi he crouches down at picks it.

This was it, _this_ was what he had been looking for!

An echoing boom shook the entirety of the cavern as the monster slammed itself against the wall. Wirt backed away until he reached the farthest point, unable to stop from whimpering quietly. Evidently, the creature was not one for waiting around, and decided to take matters into its own claws. It peered at its prey with a narrowed eye before going back to breaking a wider hole.

Dipper turns back to look at Wirt, who was terrified out of his mind and, _holy shit_ , he was _really_ bleeding. Pocketing the mushroom, he drops his bag to the ground, delving into it with a sense of urgency. Looking from his bag back up to Wirt, he struggles to find the right words to say. There was a giant gash that went from the back of Wirt’s knee to his ankle.

“Wirt, y-you’re bleeding,” Dipper squeaks out, his voice barely above a whisper. This was all his fault. “Let me help you, I, I have a first aid kit - I can -” Barely able to force out a sentence, he pulls out the small kit with trembling hands. Approaching Wirt made his stomach flip with dread. Was Wirt going to hate him for getting them into this mess?

Wirt glanced down at his leg, and blanched. In their panic, he didn’t even notice his injury, but now the pain hit him like a wall. His pant leg was drenched in crimson, the cloth ripped to shreds. “O-oh God! I-I’m bleeding everywhere, oh no, I bet that thing can smell the blood on me…” He flinched from the sting as Dipper started cleaning his wound. “I’m so sorry, this is my fault, if I hadn’t tripped and injured myself maybe that thing wouldn’t be after us. O-ow!”

“It’s not that bad, s-seriously, it’s okay!” Dipper tries to reassure Wirt, although the panic in his voice didn’t offer much condolences. “It’s just bleeding a lot, but the wound itself isn’t all that deep. You’ll be okay, man, I promise.” Hurriedly he starts to wrap the wound tightly; the pressure would keep it from bleeding more. That, and if they needed to run again, the last thing Wirt needed was a gaping wound to worry about.

“Oh. Still, it huuurts,” Wirt cringes from the pressure. He yelps as the creature outside rams the wall again, causing rocks to crumble from the ceiling. The monstrous noises it was making were hardly reassuring.

With a ferocious screech, the monster shoves its elongated maws into the cavern, its teeth snapping just feet away from the two.

Those eyes, those glowing eyes, peering at him with such ferocious fervor! Instantly, a barrage of images floods back into Wirt's mind, memories of the unholy oculi of the tar-covered beast he faced on his first night in the Unknown. His entire body feels weak as he recalls the eerily similar helplessness he felt, doubled in his current case as this time, he had nowhere to run.

Wirt is on the verge of tears. “This is it. W-w-we’re going to get eaten by a giant glowing dinosaur. That’s it. My entire life has led up to this. No one is going to find us down here because it’s just going to swallow us whole. I won’t ever get to see the light of day or tell you how I’m in love with you or finish any more of my stories or poems and I just-” he babbles on incoherently, not particularly aware of what he’s saying, hot tears starting to slide down his cheeks as he curls in on himself, ready to submit to fate.

Dipper’s heart skips a beat and simultaneously feels like it had been punctured. Wirt liked him? No, _loved_ him? That was such a strong word, but then again, they were on the verge of death, they were practically staring it in the eyes. Flabbergasted and unsure of what to say, he dumbfoundedly looks down at Wirt, completely shocked. His thoughts all tangled together in a web of uncertainty, of fear, regret.

But there was no way he was going to go down without a fight.

When the world fights, Dipper fought back.

“No. This isn’t it, it’s not going to end here,” Dipper exhales through his nose, sounding a bit like he was in denial, if anything. Maybe he was, hell, things were looking really grim. But thinking back to earlier he palms at the mushroom in his pocket. Not even the entire toadstool was needed to induce a heavy slumber. The whole thing was enough to knock someone out for weeks, it was potent - practically poisonous to animals. Merely clutching onto it was enough to make his muscles relax and his head feel lighter.

Dipper had one shot to make things right and he _wasn’t_ going to mess it up. Nervously taking a few breaths before opening up his mouth Dipper knew he was going to sound like an idiot but, hey, what was new, right?

“I really like you a lot too. Ever since I saw you at the coffee shop I have had this huge crush on you and this was some _stupid_ attempt to impress you and I messed up. You’re hurt and we’re probably going to die but like, just,” Dipper crouches down to Wirt’s level. Putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, Dipper smirks somberly.

Wirt stares up at him through wet eyes, mouth hanging open but unable to produce any words.

“I’m not going to let you die.” Standing up confidently (despite being terrified) he approaches the beast, clutching the tiny fungus with determination. All he had to do was get the thing to eat it, right? That meant he would have to get it to open up its mouth. Well, if he pissed it off it would probably yell, so, Dipper Pines did the only thing he could possibly think to do.

“Hey asshole!” he shouts, flailing his arms about. The behemoth slams its head against the entry way again, the cavern quivering as a result. If they didn’t die from the dinosaur-like monster they would probably die from rocks caving in on them. Dipper was dangerously close to the mouth of the beast, if it snapped at him it would surely reach him. Preparing himself, he stands there and waits, at the ready. On cue, the beast lets out a shrill cry and Dipper throws the mushroom into its mouth. Or at least he thinks he did. To be honest, he didn’t know if he made the shot or not.

He had a notoriously bad aim.

The creature rears up, smacking its jaws as it nearly gags on the foreign object before choking it down. The mere taste of the fungus on its tongue was enough to disorient it. With a low gurgle, it teeters sideways, rocking from foot to foot until it collapses onto the rocks, its glow reduced to a weak, slow pulsing.

Dipper exasperatedly drops to his knees in front of [the slumbering beast](http://sta.sh/0irkhcccx3j). He did it, he _really_ did it. Yet somehow he couldn’t find it in him to celebrate. Not only had Wirt gotten hurt because of him, the guy was probably traumatized now. Even the things Wirt said earlier seemed to hold no weight to Dipper - Wirt had only said them in a panic, hadn’t he? There was no way any of it was true. Now that they weren’t going to die and everything was alright, he doubted Wirt would be okay with him. He was probably furious, he probably never wanted to see him again.

 _And_ Dipper had lost the only remedy he could think of for his insomnia.

He wanted to do nothing more than nap off his overwhelming fatigue.

Wirt blinked, dizzy from the procession of events. He stood up on weak knees, limping over to Dipper, standing behind him with a trembling hand on his shoulder. The dark mass lay motionless on the floor.

“I-is it dead?” He asked, voice quavering. As if to answer his question, the raptor let out a guttural snarl, rolling over. Wirt yelped, ducking behind Dipper.

“It’s just sleeping,” Dipper sounds emotionally tired as he forces out the sentence, his back still to Wirt. That could have been him.

Oh well, not sleeping was probably better than being thrown into hibernation.

“Oh,” Wirt mumbled. He didn’t trust the thing one bit. What if it was pretending and was going to jump right back up on its feet the moment they took a step towards it? “What did you do to it, anyways? No, no, nevermind that, can we please get out of here?”

“Yes, we can. We can get out of here,” Dipper responds, turning to look back at Wirt.

As they make their way out of the cave, Dipper is completely silent. Perhaps Wirt may have thought that was due to him being attentive, listening for predators, but it was honestly because of the complete paranoia that had hijacked his mind. Did Wirt still like him? Was that still a thing? God, he couldn’t get it out of his thoughts but he was far too ashamed to speak to Wirt.

 _Hey, how’s your leg? Oh, by the way, do you still love me? You know, after I almost killed us,_ Dipper thinks to himself sarcastically. Yeah, no matter how he phrased it in his head he sounded horrendously stupid and desperate.

The pair walked quickly out of the cavern, hardly glancing back upon the cave. The beautiful serenity it had possessed turned into a chilling tension. Who knows how many monsters could lurk in those crevices?

Wirt’s mind ran in circles as he followed Dipper through the twisting paths.

At the time, he was just incoherently sputtering out whatever thoughts came to mind, but anyone who stood in the face of reptilian death would too. He wasn’t thinking when he confessed his feelings quietly under his breath, hell, he wasn’t even aware that Dipper was listening to him. He could have been thinking it in his mind for all he knew. He didn’t even realize that his lips were moving.

But he was more than just thinking it, and Dipper was aware of his words. No, the man had crouched down, reassured him with such resolve that for a second, he forgot there even was a monster tapping its toes on their impending doom. And when Dipper told him that he reciprocated his feelings not just that minute, but from the moment he met him, there was no way he could have been serious, could he? That was just in a moment of panic, it must have been. Only _he_ was flighty to fall for a stranger like that.

But Dipper’s eyes, his burning, oakwood eyes, didn’t lie. They glimmered with the spark of hope and self-assurance that Wirt could never dream to achieve.

And Wirt believed him. Every single word.

They finally walked out, blinking from the natural light of the surface world, muted from the fog that still lingered. As the adrenaline finally left his system, Wirt felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over him. He slumped on the ground amidst the ferns.

“I never want to go cave exploring again,” he whined. He looked back at Dipper, staring at him blankly for a few seconds when realization hit him. For the second time now, Dipper saved his life. He never meant to get into danger; if anything, it was his own fault for getting tangled up in these messes.

“You saved my life. Again,” he whispered.

“I endangered your life. _Again_ ,” Dipper corrected.

Wirt shook his head. “It’s my fault. I keep messing up.”

“No, Wirt, you’re blaming yourself but,” Dipper sighs, running his hand through his tangled hair. He was never good at expressing himself, never good at putting his feelings into words.

“I took you here, I put you in harms way. I sorta knew it would be dangerous, but I figured it would be fun _somehow_. Maybe I’m just messed up like that? My idea of fun is obviously being chased around by monsters, which, you know, really isn’t fun at _all_ ,” Dipper grows quiet after his rambling, pausing again as if to recollect his thoughts. There was obviously something more on his mind, something that rested on the tip of his tongue and was dying to come out.

“What you said back there... what _I_ said back there. Is that-Is that still a thing?” Despite being completely vague, he had an idea Wirt knew exactly what he was talking about.

Wirt’s heart nearly leaped out of his ribcage. The way Dipper phrased that… Were his words back there as genuine as his own?

“Yes.”

Perking up quite animatedly, Dipper laughs in relief. He’s grinning from ear to ear, his cheeks flushing slightly. Well, it was official. They both liked each other.

Now what was he supposed to do next?

“So, like, uhm, d’you wanna, uh, see each other again?”

Wirt couldn’t help but crack a smile. Somehow, despite his terror at the time, a part of him truly didn’t care that he was almost eaten alive. He was here, and he was with Dipper. That’s what mattered, he realized.

Besides, maybe he could get used to the monster chases. Surprisingly, the thrill made him feel alive.

He rose, striding over to Dipper, taking his rough hand into his own slim one.

“I’d love to.”


	5. Melianthus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I think of thee, thou fair one,_   
>  _In my sad and lonely hours;_   
>  _And the thought of thee comes o’er me,_   
>  _Like the breath of morning flowers._
> 
> From “Sweet and Secret Love” by John Kenyon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, this chapter kinda took a while to get out because authors had misc life shit going on so yeah sorry about that!  
> We just wanted to send our appreciation for all those reading and supporting this work! ;~; 
> 
> AND GOSH!! People are doing art for this fic??? WHAT??  
> Thanks to arkaena, omyenemy-doiterrify, lilyisnotamused, and daily-doodle-bug for their lovely works!!! Here they are!! Go shower them with praise and love!!  
> http://omyenemy-doiterrify.tumblr.com/post/106846521674/they-were-alive-and-it-was-wonderful-ch-2  
> http://arkaena.tumblr.com/post/106101045919/whyd-we-need-to-turn-the-lights-off-does  
> http://lilyisnotamused.tumblr.com/post/106415674943/i-wanted-to-draw-these-dorks-again-imagine-them  
> http://daily-doodle-bug.tumblr.com/post/108271236662

“Almost there,” Wirt whispered as he saw the roof of the Mystery Shack peek over the woods. He had been walking for almost an hour according to his watch, though seeing how he missed the bus, walking was the faster option. Not that he minded. He’d probably walk across the country for Dipper.

As he walked up the creaky stairs, Wirt felt a trill of excitement run through him. Dipper had told him to meet at his home for what was supposed to be an _actual_ safe date, though what exactly was in store he still didn’t know. That didn’t matter; Wirt was content just to spend time with him, regardless of what they were doing.

He knocked on the door, deciding against trying to see if the door was unlocked.

Knocking on the Mystery Shack door was usually followed by the distinct sound of Dipper rushing down the stairs, completely unprepared for visitors of any type. He had been getting ready to go out and pick up Wirt for their date; after all, the guy didn’t have a car or anything yet. So when Dipper swung the door open and he was greeted by Wirt, he quirked his eyebrows up in confusion.

“Hey Wirt?” Dipper greets, confusion laced within his tone. “I wasn’t expecting you so early. Or at all, really. You know I was gonna come pick you up, right?” Dipper says, pointing the toothbrush in his hand at the man.

“Oh, you were?” Wirt shrugged, stepping into the house. “You told me to meet you here, so here I am.”

“Oh, uh, I said I’d meet you at your place.” Dipper visibly stiffens up, still unsure about how to act around Wirt. Were they boyfriends now or something? They hadn’t really talked about anything as much as it had just _happened_. They both had crushes on each other and they both knew, but now it was a matter of figuring out where to go from there. Trying not to make himself overly anxious, Dipper swiftly directs his attention back to the subject at hand.

“You don’t have a car or anything, so I thought it made sense for me to come get you. You didn’t walk all the way here, did you?” Feeling a bit guilty, Dipper frowns, wondering if Wirt needed a glass of water or something. Then again, it was chilly outside. A walk didn’t seem like it would be all that terrible.

“Huh, must’ve heard you wrong. But yeah, I walked. It wasn’t a big deal, I didn’t mind.” Truly, Wirt didn’t, as he was used to walking to places back in the city. Besides, it was old fashioned, and he liked that. “You can go brush your teeth,” he added, gesturing to the toothbrush in Dipper’s hand.

“H-how long did you take?” Dipper stutters while trudging back up the stairs. Despite Wirt insisting he didn’t mind the walk, Dipper couldn’t help but to feel guilt pang in the back of his chest. At the top of the staircase he turns back to look down at Wirt, waiting for him to catch up.

Wirt glanced at his watch. “About an hour? Again, no big deal,” he waved it off, following Dipper upstairs. He couldn’t decide if he was flustered or charmed that Dipper was so worried about him.

“That’s sorta a long time, Wirt,” he chuckles, leading Wirt to the bathroom, his bare feet echoing against the wooden floors. When Dipper steps into the bathroom, he squirts a generous amount of toothpaste onto the brush before running it under the water for a second. Dipper brushes his teeth quickly, as if the inability to talk to Wirt was too much to bear for the man. He tries to hold a conversation with mumbling and facial expressions alone, but in the end fails miserably. If he kept trying to talk with his mouth full of toothpaste, Dipper knew he was going to look like he had rabies. That was a turn off for most people.

Wirt paused in the entryway, trying not to stare at Dipper attending to his morning ritual. Brushing one’s teeth was such a simple but individually unique task, and Wirt couldn’t help but find it fascinating. The toothpaste foamed around Dipper’s mouth, and he wondered if the man was going to take the time to shave that morning. Not that they were in a hurry or anything.

Dipper spits out the toothpaste froth in his mouth and turns his attention to the dreaded razor and shaving cream. Dipper wasn’t a huge fan of shaving, it took finesse and patience that he didn’t particularly have. In fact, he probably wouldn’t have had a beard in the first place if he hadn’t been so lazy about shaving. He could feel the brittle hairs starting to grow around his neck, and the last thing Dipper wanted was a neckbeard. Looking to Wirt, he can’t help but admire how cleanly shaven he was.

“So, what’s your secret? How do you do it?” Dipper thinks outloud, realizing he would need to clarify. “I mean, shaving. You have such a clean shave,” he clears his throat nervously, averting his eyes from the taller man.

“M-me? It helps not being able to properly grow a beard,” Wirt laughed nervously, scratching at his chin. He tried growing out a beard before, multiple times. Emphasis on ‘tried.’ He was about to offer another suggestion when a daring thought suddenly swept through his mind.  Though he wasn’t sure if he could pull it off, he forced up a shred of confidence and paced up to Dipper.

“Why don’t I show you?”

Frozen like a deer in headlights, Dipper takes a moment to actually conjure up a response. Show him? As in a full demonstration? His brain goes into overdrive and he can’t help but to think about what the scenario was possibly going to look like. Either Wirt was going to shave himself or…

“How do you plan on showing me? Y-you don’t have any hair on your face,” Dipper chokes out, suddenly seeming a lot less confident than usual. In fact, Dipper wasn’t all that confident at all, maybe he was just really good at _acting_ like he was. In a moment like this when he was caught off guard he suddenly found himself feeling like he was a kid again, trying his best to seem cool, desperately attempting to look like he knew what he was doing when in reality he was clueless.

“O-oh, I was just going to show you a trick my step-dad taught me. I mean, obviously I don’t have to use it much,” Wirt laughed weakly, his shred of bravery quickly disintegrating. “Wet your face first,” he instructed Dipper, motioning towards the sink while reaching for the shaving cream and razor on the shelf. Once Dipper was done, he poured a bit of the cream into his hand before using a few fingers to spread it on the man’s face in a thick lather.

 _God, this is way too intimate,_ Wirt thought, now highly unsure if this really _was_ a good idea. Well, he already committed.

Making a mental note to tell Dipper afterwards that his blade was getting really dull (bringing up any flaws in his plan would be a bad idea at this point), he slowly starts making short, smooth lines down his cheeks, rinsing the blade after each stroke.

Dipper’s adam’s apple bobs slightly as he swallows down a nervous lump in his throat. Perhaps the intimacy for the moment would have had a stronger effect on him were he not stricken with sudden paranoia. Trusting Wirt wasn’t the issue; it was more or less the razor blade Dipper didn’t trust.

Shaving his entire face would be a task Dipper would never want Wirt to try and conquer, it would take far too long and probably result in blood and tears. But shaving the straggling hairs didn’t seem like it was too difficult, and from the look on Wirt’s face he was enjoying himself.

Dipper couldn’t help but to smirk, his cheeks ever so slightly flushing.

“I’m just going to shave around the edges, if that’s fine- h-hey, don’t move your lips!” Wirt squeaked, drawing away before he laid down another stroke. He did _not_ want to leave Dipper bleeding from this, that would not only be embarrassing on his part, but painful on Dipper’s. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Dipper from his little burst of confidence. Regaining his composure, he continued, making an effort to keep his hand steady. “I’ll admit, though, I really like how you wear your beard.”

“Heh, well, without a beard I sorta look like a fourteen year old. It isn’t a pretty sight.” To that day Dipper was embarrassed of the baby face that hid underneath his scraggly, untamed beard. Dipper honestly didn’t know how he had so easily fallen into the mountain-man aesthetic, but then again it sort of came naturally when he wore flannel every day and lived in a cabin.

“Shhh, don’t talk,” Wirt urged through jaws clenched in concentration. He could tell Dipper was nervous, but he himself was starting to sweat through his clothes. He was almost finished at this point, and he really couldn’t afford to mess up right then.

“Aaand done,” he said, wiping off the razor, and then his brow. “Go rinse your face, my mountain-man,” he laughed.

* * *

 

Wirt sighed contently as he leaned back in the leather seat of the car, for the first time truly relaxed in the presence of Dipper. Through lidded eyes, he watched the landscape roll by lazily, the lavender mountains circling the valley where Gravity Falls lay. After grabbing a few burgers to-go, they decided to drive up to a known lookout point. Wirt found himself almost lulled to sleep by the winding road up the side of the mountain as he clutched the delicious-smelling bag of food on his lap.

“You mentioned you were writing a story. Feel up to sharing some details about it?” Wirt inquired.

Reaching over to dive his hand into the grease-splattered bag Dipper comes back up with a few fries, shoving them in his mouth as if trying to give himself more time to think. Chewing on them with a pensive expression he gulps and looks over to Wirt after the forced moment of silence.

Well, now was probably a good time to come out with the truth.

“Sure, uh, let’s see. I wanted to focus on the third summer I spent in Gravity Falls. I’m sorta going in chronological order. Of course, nobody really knows that. In each book I write, the protagonist changes and it probably seems like they’re not connected even though they really are,” Dipper found himself nearly choking on his own words as he began to prattle on, “and the funny thing is - you’re gonna get a _kick_ out of this - my protagonist is totally sort of _maybe_ based off of you,” he rushes out the confession, his cheeks heating up as the words spilled past his lips. Dipper couldn’t help but to wonder if that seemed weird. Was it appropriate to ask if it sounded weird? No, no, he didn’t want to dig himself into a deeper grave.

Feeling the sudden need to shove more food in his mouth, Dipper grabs a handful of fries.

He had no clue if this first date was fantastic or terrible.

Wirt, who was midway through chewing on a fry, paused to look blankly at Dipper. _No way_ , he thought. _It can’t be._

“Wait, are you serious?” He paused, trying to come up with a way to phrase his words properly. “Because I’m actually writing about you too.” He could feel his neck flush red at his confession, even though he figured Dipper was in the same position.

Carding his fingers through his hair, Dipper laughs in relief, a smirk plastered across his face. Funny how they had both had the idea to write about each other. It sounded something like fate to Dipper.

“Small world, I guess? Yeah, uhm, ever since I first saw you in the coffee shop I was sort of transfixed. Ah, man, sorry that’s corny - isn’t it?” The butterflies in his stomach fluttered in unrest, he couldn’t believe he was on an _actual_ date with Wirt. It was surreal to know that someone was just as interested in him as he was - Dipper had a long history of one-sided crushes.

At this point Wirt snaps out of his lull, perking up. “Really? That’s the same time and place I decided you’d be the protagonist of my story.” He couldn’t help but grin widely in relief, letting out a quiet laugh. Little things like this, they didn’t happen through mere coincidence. Something deep within whispered that ‘just chance’ wasn’t particularly plausible.

Sure, he classified Dipper as a crush, but only because of the short time he knew him. Still, he couldn’t help but feel as though he was so much more than that already.

By this point the sun completely disappeared behind the mountains, the night sky beginning to fade in slowly. Looking over to the man by his side, Dipper unbuckles his seatbelt, sort of motioning for Wirt to do the same. Reaching for the knob on the radio, he turns up the music and opens his door.

Slamming it behind him, Dipper hops up onto the hood of the car, the entire vehicle shaking as he does so. Rolling over onto his stomach, he taps his fingers onto the windshield while mouthing the words “come outside.”

Wirt nods, following him out onto the hood. He reaches into the bag, handing Dipper his burger before unravelling and digging into his own. After taking a few bites, he throws his head back, gazing up at the pinpricks of stars starting to dot the fabric of the night sky. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen so many stars in the sky, especially during his time in the city.

“Though the Little One's guiding light leads many on their journeys, the Great One's gentle pawprints are the ones I wish to follow,” Wirt smiled softly, then glanced quickly back at Dipper to gauge his reaction, biting his lip. _Crap, I did it again. I really need to watch my tongue or this is just going to keep happening again and again._

“Poetry?” Dipper quirks an eyebrow at Wirt, taking a small bite out of his burger. Turning his attention back to the stars he points to a specific cluster. “You’re talking about Ursa Major, right?”

“Sort of. It’s probably my favorite constellation. I mean, there’s plenty of complex clusters, or ones with obscure or unique myths behind them, but I’ve always been partial to that one. There’s a certain charm in its recognizability.”

“Funny you say that, because,” Dipper cards his hands through his hair, pulling back his bangs to reveal his Big Dipper-shaped birthmark. As a kid it had been far more pronounced, but as he aged it seemed to have faded. Regardless, it was still present, and Dipper was still very embarrassed to reveal it. Averting his gaze from Wirt he leans forward a little.

“Uh, can you see it?” he clears his throat a little, finding that he was awkwardly positioned next to Wirt. If he leaned in any closer he could risk falling on top of the guy and that would probably be a catastrophe. Well, maybe it wouldn’t seem that bad to Wirt, but in Dipper’s eyes even the smallest of social blunders were apocalyptic.

Wirt peered at the forehead bobbing right in front of him. “Whoa, I’ve never seen anyone with such a distinct birthmark.”

He stilled his breath, suddenly realizing just how close they were. Any closer and his lips would touch Dipper’s forehead. Should he pull back now? Should he try tilting Dipper’s chin up for a kiss? No, that would be disastrous, what if it was still too early to do such a thing? He froze up from the mere thought of possibly messing everything up from one false move.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s...something.” Moving his hand away from his forehead Dipper shuffles away from Wirt, feeling like he dodged a bullet. It made sense to kiss; this was a date. But now that he was so close to the moment he had been daydreaming about, he was getting cold feet. It was sort of pathetic how he would jump head first into mystery hunting but when it came to something as simple as a kiss Dipper cowered in fear.

Sighing heavily, Dipper stares up at the stars, thoughts of kissing Wirt fluttering around in the back of his mind. As the night moved on it started to get cooler outside, a soft breeze nipping at their cheeks. Subconsciously, he moves closer to Wirt, drawn in by his warmth.

Wirt practically sighs in relief when Dipper eases away from him. He turns his head towards the horizon to watch the moon rise over the snow-dusted peaks. Something seems vaguely familiar about its shape. Something that reminded him of a particular autumn.

Vivid images from the Unknown flash before him for the second time during his time in Oregon. The half-moon hanging above draws a sudden parallel to the merciless, cold sky of that other land, bringing back with it the chill in his bones. He shivers, curling in on himself as he averts his gaze down to the valley below, trying to focus on anything that doesn’t directly remind him of it.

Although silence usually came with some sort of tranquility, Dipper found himself suddenly disheartened by the lack of conversation. A glance over at Wirt and Dipper’s heart thumps unevenly in his ears. Maybe he was misreading him, but something about Wirt looked utterly distraught.

“Is there something wrong?” Dipper asked, leaning forward slightly in an attempt to catch a look at Wirt’s expression.

“I-it’s nothing.”

“You sure? You can tell me anything,” Dipper consoles, sitting upright to look over at his companion. Well, _more_ than companions now.

Wirt gulped down the lump in his throat, struggling to find the proper wording for his tale. “Do you believe in near-death experiences?”

Quirking his eyebrow up in curiosity, Dipper pauses a moment to take Wirt’s words in. That question was a bit arbitrary. Regardless of how strange it seemed, Dipper figured Wirt must have had a decent reason for bringing up such a grim topic.

“Of course, I’ve had a few myself,” Dipper answers, wondering where Wirt was steering the conversation.

Wirt hunches his shoulders as he leans forward ever so slightly, rubbing his hands together in an anxious manner.

“When I was in high school, my brother and I fell into a creek and nearly drowned. You know how people have visions when they’re on the brink? Both of us did, but the most peculiar thing was that both of us had the exact same story to tell.” He delved into the details, telling Dipper a brief outline of his tale, along with the story behind the glowing frog and the names on the gravestones matching up with the people they encountered, the two key pieces of evidence that hinted it was far more than a fever dream. However, he omitted one part: the story about the Beast. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt as though he should hold on back that aspect.

“I’m still not sure what exactly we went through, but no one believes me when I say it was more than an oxygen-deprived vision. So in a way, I guess we both write about real life experiences even though we have to present them as fictitious works,” he laughs softly before his smile fades again as he gazes forlornly at the distant valley.

“I mean, I understand if you don’t believe me. You can’t prove it with science or research. It was probably just a dream,” Wirt muttered, the last part more under his breath than to Dipper.

“What? Why _wouldn’t_ I believe you?” Dipper leans closer, putting his hand over Wirt’s. With a reassuring squeeze, he furrows his brows at the other.

“Listen, you’re talking to the guy that’s also been to some weird separate plane of existence. I went inside my Grunkle’s mind once,” Dipper pauses, remembering the Dreamscape with an unsettled shiver. “It was weird. But I’ll save that story for later. Anyway, Wirt, it’s all going to be okay. I’m gonna keep you safe, alright?”

“Thanks, Dipper,” Wirt smiles graciously, glad to have someone who genuinely believes in his peculiar story for once, as opposed to forcing him into telling it from the perspective of a dream or fictional tale. He turns to face him, gazing into Dipper’s eyes, so full of what he guessed was adoration. He contemplates about telling him the second half of the story, about the monstrous Beast that he sometimes still felt was lurking in the shadows. Unsure about where to begin, he stalled for a few moments.

Like a drum Dipper’s heart pounds in his ears, a shot of adrenaline going to his head at the mere thought of kissing Wirt. There was a first time for everything, right? After the first kiss it would be easier to kiss a second time, or maybe even a third time. All he had to do was get it out of the way and everything would be easier.

It was the perfect timing. Dipper couldn’t have planned things any better and yet in the face of the moment he had been waiting for he suddenly froze. Wirt sat there, waiting, and from Dipper’s point of view it looked like he was waiting in anticipation.

There were so many variables that went into kissing a person. What if he bumped his nose against Wirt’s, or what if he accidentally slipped and they fell off the car? It didn’t seem likely but it was one of the many _what-ifs_ that floated around in his anxious mind.

Wirt seems like he wants to say something, but by that point Dipper had decided to make the move forward. Their lips clash together for the first time, and Dipper realizes he probably went in a bit too rough. Oh god. Yeah, that was _bad_.

Mission _abort_.

Drawing back from Wirt, he looks away from him, his cheeks heating up so hot that he felt like he must have spontaneously caught on fire.

“U-uh, too soon?” Dipper asks, self-doubting as always.

Wirt stares at him, wide-eyed from the unexpected move on Dipper’s part. “Uh, no, um, I’m just, uh-” he stutters, unsure what to say or do at this point, frozen in place. Was that their first kiss? Yes. Yes it was. He could feel his face flush rose, caught completely off guard as he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that they had finally done what he so desperately wanted since the day he first saw the man.

Wirt’s mind spun and his heart pounded as he tried to figure out his next action. _Guess the Beast story can wait,_ he figured. “I’m just-” he trailed off again, instead choosing to place his hand over Dipper’s as he tilts his head towards him once more, inching forward with a mixture of subtlety and forwardness, or at least hoping it came off as such.

“You’re just?” Dipper trails off after Wirt, his voice hushed and raspy. Dipper’s eyes shut as he tilts his head to the side for another kiss. This time it was a lot neater, their lips brushing together passionately, their pace leisurely. Barely remembering to breathe, the last thing Dipper wants to do is break away from Wirt, in fact, he wants to close in the contact between them entirely. Slowly but surely he inches closer to the taller man, nonverbally suggesting they lay down with a tug of Wirt’s sleeve.

Wirt absolutely melts into the contact, drawing in closer while trying to match Dipper’s pace. He revels in the moment, taking in the pressure of lips upon his, the fluttering in his stomach, the slight pull on his shirt. He feels like he should probably try to breathe but he doesn’t _want_ to, doesn’t even _need_ to, because all he does need in this moment is Dipper. Feeling a slight pull on his shirt as Dipper shifts, Wirt takes the cue to lean back while wrapping his arms around the other man gently in a movement that felt astoundingly natural. They lie down on the warm hood without breaking the kiss, breathing shallowly through their noses.

Being the first to pull away from the kiss, Dipper looms over Wirt in silence, looking down at him with a near flabbergasted expression. They _seriously_ just did that - didn’t they? At the realization that he had shared a kiss with Wirt for the first time, he closes back in for more, seeming considerably more enthusiastic than last time. Dipper trails his hands down Wirt’s sides, exploring them with great curiosity (as any adventurer would). His hands rest just above Wirt’s hipbones, his thumbs pressing into his sides with a little possessive squeeze.

The muddled flurry that had been brewing in Wirt’s mind was swept away into a happy bliss as he ran his hands across Dipper’ broad back. The man is warm, so unbelievably warm and Wirt practically pushes into him to try and get a little bit more of his heat. In response to Dipper’s own eagerness, his back arches upward as the space between their chests close, the soft fabric of their clothes brushing together. His fingers drift further upwards, burying themselves in Dipper’s untameable locks of sienna.

Despite feeling so content, so relaxed, Wirt found his senses heightened, if only a little. He could note every movement, such as the way Dipper gripped gently at his sides, or hear every little gasp, grunt, exhale. And the sensations on his lips! Those were untranscribable, and no combination of words could relay them.

For once, though, his speechlessness did not bother him.

Rolling over onto his side, Dipper inhales and exhales in post make-out session bliss, his chest rising and falling in tune with the beat of his heart. With a lovestruck smirk, he looks up at the stars twinkling above them. In that moment Dipper really felt as if everything had gotten better for him, as if all of his problems simply melted away. The lack of zeal he had once felt for life had been temporarily replaced by a pure moment of joy in which he reveled in the cool night air.

Wirt shuffles just a little closer to Dipper, enough that their shoulders were touching. He let out a deep, content sigh as he shut his eyes, happy to simply lay there in silence, enjoying the peaceful moment under the stars. Fingertips drifted almost subconsciously towards each other until they were gently interlaced in a simple but profound gesture.

It didn’t feel like any words needed to be said. There was no need for speech, no need for thought - merely existing together was enough for the two men. Lost in the endless spread of stars above their heads, Dipper lets out a relaxed hum, stretching behind Wirt in an almost cat-like manner. It had been a while since Dipper had actually felt sleepy in a way that wasn’t due to complete fatigue. Figuring it might be a good idea to head back for the night, he slides off the hood of the car, reluctantly letting go of Wirt’s hand as he does so.

Treading over to the driver’s side of the vehicle Dipper shoves his hand in his pocket, fishing for his keys with a confused expression. That was weird - they weren’t on him. Frantically patting down his pockets he panics when he discovers he didn’t have his keys. An expression of realization crosses his features. Pressing his face up against the glass of the passenger side window, he peers inside his car, only to see the keys stuck in the ignition. Hoping he had left the doors unlocked Dipper ruggedly pulls at the door handle. No dice.

Well. They would get to enjoy the stars longer, at least.

A _lot_ longer.


	6. Intermission

Huddled in the shade of the towering redwoods stands a brake of feeble birches, the only entrance to which was a narrow path that cut through the rising brambles closed around it. It was practically inaccessible, and only the most resilient of intruders ever dared to enter it, most only ever finding it thanks to chance. Little nooks of this nature are sprinkled throughout the woods, each one being the haunt of a particular spirit, or the favored meeting place of a menagerie of monsters.

Even when far away, the presiding demon of that particular grove always knew when someone or something entered his aspen hideaway. Usually, it was nothing more than a beetle or a rat passing through, but today a foreboding presence stood at the very center of the clearing, awaiting his return with a firm purpose in mind.

Rarely did anyone enter his grove with such a resolve. _Curious,_ the demon thinks. Just from a quick sweep of his guest's mind, he grew excited at the delicious prospect that would be soon offered to him.

As he neared the being, he could hear a low baritone voice serenading the trees, neither mournful nor happy but something so in-between that it made the energies of the demon crawl and spark unpleasantly. At this point, he could tell it was no mortal awaiting him, but an entity of his own caliber. This excited him; deals with humans were fun, but playing games with those like him was the reason for existence in his eyes. Or, to be a little more specific, eye.

The triangular demon finally burst through between the boughs, an expression of delight crossing his features as he saw who exactly he was dealing with on that foggy afternoon.

"Ah, Beast! Long time no see! What are you doin' in my neck of the woods? You look a little pale, is your glowstick running low on juice?"

“May I ask, for the _umpteenth_ time, you not call me by that human-given name,” the faint shadow replies, his tone exasperated, indicating that this was not the first time he had the displeasure of chatting with Bill Cipher before. The Beast’s true name could not be spoken clearly in any human tongue, it was beyond comprehension for most. But for a demon like Bill? His name should have been more than easy to pronounce.

It was about as average of a name as ‘Dave’ or ‘Joe’ in their tongue.

Bill circled around the figure, eyeing him from every angle. "Always so old fashioned. Get with the times, I don’t even go by _William_ anymore. Say, for a creature of your build, you're looking a little bleak, are you not?" Bill added with a teasing tone, letting the Beast know right away that none of his thoughts were hidden to him.

“Souls do not willingly submit to the soil. You know this,” The Beast replies, his tone indeed seeming drained, ever so slightly trembling. Without a lantern-bearer to do his work for him, he had been left to harvest souls all by himself. Unfortunately, children did not willingly approach a character of his stature. It was tedious, time-consuming work, claiming souls tormented by despair. And then there was a matter of using the edelwood sap to light his fire.

Nearly nine years ago his soul had nearly burnt out entirely, all by one meddling child.

Luckily for the Beast, an ember of his soul, a mere fragment, was able to manifest into a tiny fire, not much larger than a candle flame. A decade was mere seconds for beings of his kind, and at this point his fire had not grown much larger than the size of a golf ball.

How he longed for the days where his soul burned bright, so bright even the breeziest of nights would not faze him. Those days, however, seemed to be long over. He had gone from being as strong as tree to being not much more than a frail weed.

“Of course I know,” Bill replied, getting bored quickly. The Beast was always such a _downer_ to be around. Boy, was he glad he never had to rely on external sources of power. To entertain himself, he conjured a Rubik’s Cube and began to fiddle with it. “That’s why you can’t ever try direct approaches. Working in roundabout ways, though - now that’s more fun!” He holds up the cube for a moment, admiring the one completed side.

“If you want souls, you’ve got to play it smart these days. You spin the puzzle this way and that, lead them to think you’re just making random moves when in reality every little step is planned ten rounds in advance.” Bill tossed the now-solved toy to the Beast, floating lazily above him. “So you need help with a soul, huh?”

The cube phases through the Beast, and at this point it became glaringly apparent that his physical form was no more. He was a mere shadow of his old self, quite literally.

"Yes," the Beast said simply and uneasily. He had long since lost his former glory, now but an opaque shadow, no longer feared. Finding his respect diminished, he chose to drift around, plucking out a few souls here or there. Yet finally, he was faced with one of the souls that led him to his demise, and he would enjoy nothing more than taking it for himself.

“So do you like, have a particular soul in mind, or do you want something general?” Bill inquired, hoping it was the former. Taking lives was amusing, but vendettas made things even more fun.

“A soul that I should have claimed long ago now resides in Gravity Falls - your domain.” Demons tended to have their own turfs, areas they frequented. Bill Cipher was famous for having a hold on the sleepy paranormal city in Oregon. Although a majority of demons weren’t all that mindful of turfs, the Beast was overly cautious in his weakened state.

“Alas, I cannot simply _ask_ the boy for his soul. He knows my weakness. But…” the Beast paused, a wicked idea brewing in his mind. “He doesn’t know yours.”

Bill squinted down at the shadowy form, placing his hands on what could be loosely defined as his hips. “Ah, the tall, pasty newcomer! The one that’s been running around town with-” he cut off suddenly, eye widening in realization. He zooms down to the Beast’s level, eager now. “I’ve got an even better proposition: I’ll help you with your runaway soul, while you help me out with one I’ve been having trouble with. How’s that - _two_ souls for the price of one!”

“And at what cost does this come to me?” Humans were wary about making deals with demons. Demons were even _more_ wary about making deals with other demons.

“Cost?” Bill repeated. “I’d say this is more of a tradeoff.  You bring the demise of one soul, I’ll take care of the other. I mean, this is more about having fun, right Beastie?” he laughed, slinging an arm around the other demon’s shoulder.

“Fun?” the Beast scoffs. “This is a matter of my survival, make no mistake.”

“Ugh, _survival,”_ Bill sneers, drawing away.

“However, I _do_ have a soft spot for riddles,” he admitted, seeming to let his guard down if only for a single moment. “If what you propose is what you claim, then I believe both of us will benefit from this  _partnership_.”

“Lighten up a bit, pal. With the emotional state these two are in, it’ll be a breeze. You might even have fun with it for once!”

“Yes, perhaps I will,” the Beast trails off, his voice low and sinister. There was no more need for words at this point, as they had spoken far more than most demons bothered to.

Considering their chat over, Bill tilts his hat in respect and vanishes with a tiny ‘pop,’ off to muse about the first few steps of their ungodly agreement.

In the dead of night the Beast travels into the depths of the abysmal forest, humming a mournful tune as he disappears into the darkness.  


* * *

Dipper startles awake in the dead of night, sweat rolling down his neck while he catches his breath jaggedly. Perhaps it was only in a sleepy stupor but he could swear, if only for a moment, he had heard ominous singing.


	7. Primrose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When once the sun sinks in the west,_  
>  _And dewdrops pearl the evening's breast;_  
>  _Almost as pale as moonbeams are,_  
>  _Or its companionable star,_  
>  _The evening primrose opes anew_  
>  _Its delicate blossoms to the dew…_  
>  -John Clare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //  
> Weltschmerz is on permanent hiatus. Do not contact about continuation.   
> -Alopex
> 
> //
> 
> this chapter is nsfw
> 
> \--
> 
> Hey guys, andouilles (aka Dipper) here. It’s been ten months. That’s like, I don’t know, 310 days give or take a few. A lot can happen in 310 days. I feel like a personal anecdote is in order (for those of you that like sappy shit) so, here we go. 
> 
> Originally, this fic was just me asking Alopex (aka Wirt) to roleplay. And that’s how it started, us roleplaying, as friends. Well, at a certain point (I can roughly mark when) our writing started reflecting how we actually felt for each other. Which is incredibly gay. I had this Major Crush on Alopex, confessed in the most embarrassing way possible (it was a love letter written in cipher text) and well. Here we are. We live a good 2,000 miles away from each other on complete opposite ends of the country. We made plans to see each other in June. We had been waiting for so long, in fact, almost as long as you guys have been waiting for this chapter.
> 
> We saw each other. In the flesh. We kissed. We laughed. We cried. It was the best time I’ve ever had in my life. 
> 
> And I think it’s safe to say we’ll be sticking together for a long time.
> 
> So, Weltschmerz, this fic, is highly personal project to us. It’s very much a reflection of our past feelings for each other, current feelings, whatever. I cannot tell you how many times I have done and said the same things Dipper has. Don’t even get me started when it comes to Alopex acting like Wirt.
> 
> I’m sorry we didn’t update sooner, but a lot has happened. School, work, plans to see each other, a whole plethora of shenanigans that made writing harder to do at an efficient pace.
> 
> We appreciate each and every one of our readers, you guys really make our day! When I get an email notification saying someone commented on our fic, I light up like a goddamn Christmas tree. 
> 
> That being said I want to emphasize the fact that this fic is for _us_. We write it for ourselves. So, while enthusiasm is appreciated, what I do NOT appreciate are comments along the lines of “uPDATE WHEN?!?!” Like. Guys. I’m 21. I’ve got school to attend. Alcoholic beverages to consume. This fic is for our personal enjoyment. Working with deadlines is something I want to avoid, because as I mentioned, we don’t feel like we should be stressed out over something that has been for us to do during our freetime. 
> 
> Alright, so that’s probably more info than you all wanted - right? I hope you enjoyed this chapter. When’s the next one coming out? It is a mystery. Maybe soon. Maybe not. Just know that we’re always working on this fic on and off, and unless mentioned that the project is being dropped, it’s still in progress.
> 
> -andouilles

* * *

 

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The infernal chirping of the smoke detector echoes throughout the entire Mystery Shack, loud and unforgiving. In a panic, Dipper rushes around the kitchen, opening all the windows, slipping and sliding across the hardwood floors as he hurries back over to the stove in an attempt to salvage the food he had so carelessly burnt. Any offer of help from Wirt was swiftly denied. Dipper wanted to make him a good breakfast on his own and he wanted it to be _perfect_. Unfortunately, burnt and perfect did not often fall under the same category.

“Coffee! Right, right, gotta put on coffee too,” he murmurs to himself, slamming his fist down on an ancient looking coffee machine that makes a sickly sound when he turns it on. Suddenly realizing Wirt always drank tea, Dipper slaps his forehead with an open palm and groans. Now he had to put the kettle on the stove to boil water for tea, had to make coffee for himself (maybe he could skip out on that), make bacon on one burner, eggs on another, and scrap the destroyed pancakes.  The pancakes weren’t working out at all - they had become a charcoaled paste rather than an edible breakfast item.

“D-Don’t worry, I got this, we’ll eat soon, lemme just, I gotta,” Dipper trails off, his voice high pitched and panicked, cracking with exasperation every other word.

Wirt was observing the scene with slight fear, though not so much for his breakfast as for Dipper. Confined to his chair by coercion, the poet couldn’t do much more than watch and shake his leg anxiously under the table. Once more he debates if he should try to offer help, but decides to wait another few minutes. Dipper could handle things on his own, right?

 _Wrong,_ he thinks, answering his own question as the frying pan supposedly cooking the pancakes begins to hiss, red flames licking at the charred remains.

“Uh, Dip, the pancakes are kind of on fire,” he comments meekly, wringing his hands in worry. Unfortunately, Dipper had his back towards the pan in question and didn’t seem to hear Wirt. More by reflex, Wirt leaps up, grabbing the pan and throwing it into the sink before it could set the rest of the stove on fire.

The smoke detector was still blaring. Wirt dances around Dipper, opening up a window before grabbing a stray newspaper from the sill, attempting to fan some of the smoke away from the siren. Miraculously, it helps. He turns back to Dipper to tell him he put out the fire, but found the man glaring (or perhaps pouting) at him for not staying put.

Wirt obediently returns to his chair, shoulders hunched like a misbehaved puppy.

“Pancakes? Who needs ‘em,” Dipper chuckles out nervously, trying to hide the fact that he was scolding himself for messing up at something that should have been _simple_.

 _At least I can’t burn water_ , he thinks as he turns on another burner, placing a steel kettle down on the stove. Exasperated and a bit discouraged, he looks over his shoulder at Wirt, who anxiously sits in his seat, practically twitching by this point. Dipper clears his throat and turns his back on the lanky man, deciding eggs would do just fine for breakfast.

A few minutes later, Dipper finally places a plate in front of Wirt: scrambled eggs and _almost_ burnt toast with charred bacon. Dipper had made him tea too (of an unknown flavor). He said it was a surprise, but to be quite honest, Dipper didn’t know what was in the tea bag _at all._ Dipper didn’t even drink tea, so it was sort of a mystery as to why he had a tin of unlabeled tea laying around. It had a pleasant aroma, so that was a good sign.

Glad that his boyfriend (he assumes they were boyfriends by now) finally sat down, Wirt picks up the toast, nibbling at it. Despite the darker color, it tastes fine, and even has the crispiness he prefers. That was a relief, though he was just happy that Dipper was no longer running around in a frenzy. He reaches for the brewing tea, taking a slow, deep breath for the first time that morning.

“The tea smells good,” he comments, his shoulders lowering just a bit as he felt his tension in his spine ebb away. “Bergamot with just a touch of lavender, what a lovely blend.”

“Yes, absolutely,” Dipper replies, having not the slightest clue what a ‘bergamot’ was. Quick to change the subject before Wirt quizzes him on who or what bergamot was exactly (was is a fancy leaf or something?), he points his fork at Wirt’s dish.

“Is it okay? Sorry, I’m not much of a chef if you couldn’t tell,” Dipper’s cheeks heat up a bit and he averts Wirt’s gaze. At least he tried; maybe Wirt found that endearing. The unforgiving scent of burnt pancakes still fills the air.

Looking up from his eggs, Wirt is greeted by a hopeful expression. He returns the glance with a soft smile.

“It’s delicious,” he affirms. “The pepper’s a nice touch. Really though, going out of your way like this for me is so sweet of you.”

“Well, hopefully it’s better than whatever the breakfast is at the hotel.” Dipper doubts his poor excuse for cooking was better than a continental breakfast. “How much longer are you staying, anyway?” Dipper asks, realizing last second that might have implied he wanted to see Wirt leave.

“Uh, not that I ever want to see you go. But usually when people stay in hotels it means they plan on leaving sometime.”

“Oh, funny you bring that up. I’ve actually been looking for a place to lease for a few months. My editor and I agreed that my trip can last up until New Year’s, so that gives me at least a few months here. Maybe she’ll let me extend the trip,  I really do like it here,” he trails off, not particularly wanting to think that far in advance.  He’d be happy to stay in Gravity Falls, but work was work, and it was difficult finding a position like the one he had. Wirt shakes the thought; he didn’t wish to burden himself with his issues during such a pleasant breakfast. Best to focus on the present.

“But in the meantime,” Wirt continues, “I’ve got to find a place here. I’ve been looking around, do you think you could give me some advice on housing in the area?”

Suddenly Dipper is sitting up a little straighter, excitement apparent from the way he now leans over the table, moving closer to Wirt. Of course he knows a place Wirt could stay - the answer was obvious!

“Stay with me! I mean, uh, like not in my room. I have an empty room. Unless you want to stay in my room? Well, I guess if you wanted to come upstairs that would always been an option.”

Soos’s old workroom was long since unoccupied, and Dipper would have no problem letting Wirt rent it out. Sure, they hadn’t been together all that long and _sure_ it was sort of early to ask Wirt to move in with him - but this was a _special_ case!

“Are you serious?” Wirt can’t help but grin widely; he hasn’t even _thought_ of this option, but the prospect delights him. “I’d love to stay with you. Could you show me the room after breakfast?”

* * *

 

After their meal, the pair made their way down to the old breakroom. Wirt runs a finger across one of the cabinets, taking off a layer of dust. The room has obviously not been touched in months, even years if Wirt was to guess just by the grime. Still, it holds a certain charm. Morning sunbeams stream through the cracks in the blinds, which bathe the space in a glowing warmth. The wooden furnishings are  simple, but Wirt finds he likes the rustic theme. WIth a bit of work, it would make a lovely place to live.

“This is so cozy. When can I move in?”

Dipper quirks a surprised eyebrow, his arms crossed in front of him confidently. Watching Wirt observe the room from the door frame, Dipper is delighted when Wirt expresses genuine interest about moving in. He didn’t expect him to be so enthusiastic over a grimy, discarded room, and Dipper’s heart skips a beat.

Just thinking about the man made a soft smile appear on his features; he couldn’t help but feel uplifted around him. It had only been a few days since they first kissed, but that moment had been all that was on his mind ever since. Thoughts of kissing Wirt consumed him, his voice being the only thing that could knock Dipper out of his daydreams.

When Wirt asks when he could move in, Dipper does what feels natural.

Taking a few steps towards Wirt, Dipper gently pushes him against the wall, pinning him in place with what was both a firm, yet careful grip.

“Now,” Dipper answers, his voice barely above a whisper. God, he would never be able to do something that smooth ever again.

Closing in the space between them, he brushes his lips against Wirt’s, carefully, fervently. There was certain eagerness behind his movements, enthusiasm he hadn’t felt in years. Maybe he was being too direct, too straightforward, but Dipper wants to relish in the feeling of caring for another person, for feeling the touch of another person. It had been so long since Dipper had felt close to anyone, and now that he has Wirt he couldn’t get enough of the contact.

Dipper pulls back, his cheeks tinted a flushed pink.

“Was that too much?” he asked, self-doubt flickering in his eyes.

“N-no,” Wirt breathes. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears from the sudden action. Never one to be forward, he always appreciated when others took the initiative, though he remained easily caught off guard. Lost in Dipper’s gaze, Wirt’s mind spins from the flurry of emotion that momentarily overtook him.

Time seemed to tick by at different paces when he was around Dipper, both flying by quick yet lasting forever. Regardless of the speed it ran at, he wants to be with the man during all of it, and living under his roof never sounded more appealing.

Wirt had his own streak of unsuccessful romances, whether he or the other felt too much or too little, but with one glance into Dipper’s eyes he knows they care for each other equally. It wasn’t a hopeful guess or a psychoanalysis, but rather a piece of information he understands just from existing. It was a warmth welling in his chest, a warmth he was willing to kindle into a powerful hearth. The emotions he held for Dipper ran deep, despite the short amount of time they had known each other.

Wirt leans back in for another kiss, not out of lust but out of pure devotion, his hands slipping out of Dipper’s grasp to trail down the other’s arms and settle on his hips. His eyes slip shut and all that exists is _Dipper,_ the fragrant musk in his nose, the eager hands exploring his body, the scratch of stubble against his smooth chin, the taste of him on his tongue. No movement is planned, no thought put behind any of it, yet nothing has ever come so naturally. Bumping noses and fumbling fingers aren’t mistakes but just as much a part of the experience as the teasing nibbles of lips and the delicious gasps involuntarily stirring in their throats. Wirt had nearly forgotten why they had come there in the first place.

Dipper pulls away from Wirt, smirking as he looks over his now flabbergasted boyfriend. Taking a few steps back he puts his hands on his hips and sighs, surveying the room.

“Well, it looks like we better get started if you want to move in tonight,” Dipper suggests. They would need to thoroughly clean the room; it was pretty unsanitary in its current state.

“Yeah,” Wirt nods, not tearing his eyes away from Dipper.  A mischievous but shy grin spreads across his features as he tugs Dipper back towards him. “T-though perhaps the move can wait a few more minutes.”

* * *

 

The pair lounges on Dipper’s bed, side-by-side with their backs against the wall. After a long evening of cleaning, they were content to simply chat the rest of the night away while a rhythmic indie band plays softly from the speakers. Both were tuckered out from dusting, mopping, and scrubbing away at the grime that had settled over the years, let alone from the hassle of moving out of the hotel, but both are glad to finally settle down in their pajamas for the time being.

“I guess I should head to bed soon, huh?” Wirt mumbles half-heartedly with a glance at the clock. It wasn’t too late, but he was awfully comfortable on Dipper’s bed and he was afraid he’d pass out on it. Truthfully, Wirt doesn’t mind staying longer, but he also doesn’t want Dipper to lose sleep over him.

“Aww, come on, stay longer,” Dipper whines, leaning a bit closer to the man, his hand brushing over Wirt’s long fingers. Honestly, the best case scenario would be to somehow fall asleep alongside Wirt. Wirt’s company soothed Dipper and maybe, just _maybe_ , that would be enough to help him sleep soundly. If Wirt leaves, it would mean Dipper would be left to his own devices, and when Dipper was left to his own devices, he knows _exactly_ what will happen. Nervously, he glances over at the bottle of whiskey sitting on his nightstand, as if it had been watching him. Dipper gulps down a lump in his throat, his expression dropping from a fairly upbeat one to one of mild distress.

Dipper wants Wirt to stay.

“Please,” Dipper says in a lower voice. He was already starting to feel desperate.

There was no way Wirt could resist the puppy-dog eyes Dipper was giving him; he was just as much a pushover now as he was when he was younger. Besides, it isn’t as though he has anywhere else to be, and the thought of being in separate rooms in the same house is saddening.

“All right,” Wirt laughs and leans over to rest his head on Dipper’s shoulder, their fingers finding each other and interlacing. There was something so soothing about Dipper’s presence that Wirt could physically feel his heartbeat slowing to a relaxed pulse.

In celebration, Dipper scoops up Wirt into his arms, gently repositioning their bodies until they were spooning. Grabbing the covers, Dipper yanks the massive blanket towards them, covering them in the warmth of the dark plaid-patterned comforter. Shuffling against Wirt, Dipper tries to get as close to him as he possibly can, his nose pressing against the back of his neck. He wraps his arms around him haphazardly, one hand on Wirt’s chest and the other resting on the side of his leg. It was weird positioning that would have probably seemed uncomfortable, but surprisingly it wasn’t.

Wirt allows himself to be tugged underneath the blankets, not a sign of protest except for a surprised yelp at being manhandled. Though he towers at least a full head above Dipper, Wirt finds their layout to be just right.

“Ready to go to bed?” Dipper teases, his breath warmly brushing against Wirt’s neck. There was something slightly mischievous to Dipper’s tone.

“I guess I am,” Wirt replies, bemused. “So it’s a sleepover, then?”

“I dunno, is it still considered a sleepover if you’re already home?” Dipper replies wittily.

 _Home_. Wirt’s thoughts start to swim at the word. In all his adventures in the Unknown, he distinctly recalls searching for it on his travels. Despite that grand adventure, he has yet to learn what home really was. His room, where he spent locked up with the thoughts both in his mind and taped haphazardly on the walls in the form of notes? His house, where he once had to dart through the halls to avoid his step dad and brother bombarding him with obnoxious questions? His hometown, where he never knew if he was liked or not, or loved back by the ones he held affection for?

A slow realization hits him, the realization that curling up with Dipper after a long work day wasn't just something pleasant, but something that made him feel at home, both in heart and in body. Wirt feels warm, content with his emotions, and most importantly not alone. Even though he'd shared a bed with someone before, for the first time he felt truly at peace.

“Did I say something wrong?” Dipper asks, sounding a bit self-conscious. After all, Wirt had suddenly grown quiet, a glazed over look in his eyes as if he was deep in thought.

Wirt shakes himself as Dipper’s voice snaps him out of his introspection. “O-oh, no, you’re fine. I’m just lost in thought, I guess.”

“Yeah, I,” Dipper pauses, suddenly feeling himself grow pensive but for reasons entirely different than Wirt’s.

Something had been on his mind for a while, a topic that not many adults (it seemed) had such trouble with. When would they _do it_ for the first time? Not like do it, _do it_ , but just, do _something_? What was too soon? What was too late? Was Dipper already too late?

Oh God, maybe he was.

The last and only time he had sex was when he had been regrettably drunk, and not even with a person he cared for a whole lot. Or at all. Actually, he loathed the person he lost his virginity to, but Dipper wanted to erase that entire night from his memory if he could. They both had rushed into it as a relief for pent up rage and when it was over, well, it was _over_. They went their separate ways. Dipper never thought of it again.

Till now.

Jeez, he didn’t even know how to have regular sex. Well, no, he did, but not from personal experience. All he had to do was initiate, right? From there, Wirt would either say yes or he wouldn’t and Dipper would either stop or he wouldn’t. Fifty-fifty shot of success, right?

As Dipper desperately pep-talks himself (and begins to sweat harder than what seemed natural) he slowly slinks a hand around Wirt’s waist, his fingers sliding their way down to Wirt’s crotch until, boom, it’s there. His hand is touching Wirt’s crotch. Just casually hanging out. Cool. Alright. First step done.

Dipper pauses.

Wirt pauses.

Dipper pauses.

“So, uhm, d’you wanna -” Dipper’s voice cracks in a high-pitched screech that would have made nearby dogs howl. Cheeks flushing warmer than the hottest day of summer, Dipper clears his throat and tries to pose the question again, this time with a normal tone, though perhaps more hesitancy.

“Do you want to,” Have sex. Receive a hand-job. Get your dick touched, “do the thing?”

Nailed it.

“W-what?” Wirt stutters, his mind freezing like an ancient laptop. “T-the thing?”

He wasn’t oblivious by any means, regardless if it flustered him to no end, but only because he had no idea how to navigate such situations. After all, he was only ever in them a mere handful of times, and only with girls. The hand placed gingerly over his crotch did nothing to make his thoughts any more coherent.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want sex - on the contrary, he had been shyly looking forward to it. However, as was typical of him, he was overwhelmed with reservation. Was it too soon? Would his performance be up to par? Wirt was sure Dipper had _much_ more experience than him, and fears of being boring or incompetent quickly arose.

Before he can allow his mind to come up with even worse scenarios, he manages to quell his anxiety, letting out the breath he has been holding for far too long.

“Okay,” Wirt finally manages, finally relaxing against the broad torso behind him. Trailing his fingers down to Dipper’s wrist, he gently urges him on to continue.

“Okay, so like, I’m just going to, uh,” Dipper’s hand rubs over Wirt’s crotch a few times hesitantly, although if anything it just comes out as excruciatingly teasing. Feeling the bulge in Wirt’s pants get harder under his hand makes his own dick twitch in anticipation. Giving a few more nervous strokes to the fabric of Wirt’s pants, Dipper pauses entirely and sighs with a clearly anxious laugh.

“Alright, man. I’m gonna do it. You sure you want me to do it?” Trembling with nervousness, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Dipper really hopes Wirt doesn’t second-guess his decision.

With how bold Dipper has been, Wirt had presumed that he would simply go for it, so he is surprised with the exasperatingly feathery caresses he is being given instead. Light-headed, he shifts a little, hips giving weakly into the touch. What bewilders him even more is just how quickly he starts to crave more, especially since generally prefers to take it slow. Still, he was shy about his sudden impulse, and the most he could do was urge his lover on.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, hardly loud enough to hear. “I-it’s fine.”

“Okay. Here goes nothing, haha,” Dipper’s nervous laugh makes it sound as if he were defusing a bomb rather than touching a penis. And you know what? That’s exactly how he felt. There is so much room for error, so many awkward scenarios that run wild in his mind. Suddenly he wonders why he ever stopped making those checklists, because right about now Dipper feels desperate enough to consult some sort of guide or manual or _something_ that would instruct him on what he needs to do to execute the following task _perfectly_.

Was it pathetic if on impulse he thinks about looking in the journal for answers?

Sighing slowly, his hot breath brushes against the back of Wirt’s neck. Dipper shuts his eyes tightly and slides a hand past the waistband of both Wirt’s pajama bottoms and boxers, his fingers trailing down to his erection. It doesn’t take a lot to get Wirt hard - does it?

Shuffling even closer to Wirt so that he’s pressed flush against him, Dipper begins to stroke his shaft, only to stop for a few moments to shimmy Wirt’s pants down so his cock is completely free. When Dipper resumes, he trails his a teasing finger from the base to the head of his dick, smearing Wirt’s precum with his thumb. Dipper was experimenting, exploring, all because he’s too nervous to just cut to the chase and whack the guy off.

Wirt, on the other hand, was growing increasingly frantic.

The attentiveness to his well-being, the slow brush of fingers, and the puffs of air on the back of his neck are almost _too_ intimate. It makes him want to drag his hands up to claw through his hair in frustration, though that wasn’t possible in his pose. With how light the touches are, Wirt finds himself even more sensitive than he would normally be. In his state, he has no guess as to how long Dipper would keep up such a languid, tantalizing pace.

It was driving him mad.

Whining lowly, he grinds backwards into Dipper, feeling the other man’s cock pressing against his lower back. He’s never felt this needy before, nor this eager. The subject of sex had always been nerve-wracking for him - still was - but this felt natural, and the thought soothed him just a little.

That is, until Dipper brushes against a particularly sensitive spot, making him mumble his boyfriend’s name through his increasingly heavier panting. His skin went hot with the slip up, already boiling under the covers, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to close the space between their bodies even further.

Wirt shifting against him in need makes Dipper breathe a little heavier, and it also functions as excellent encouragement for the less than confident writer. Biting his lower lip in concentration, Dipper begins to vigorously stroke Wirt. It must have seemed like he went from 0 to 100, and for the most part that’s exactly what Dipper intends. Occasionally he would slow his stroke just to hear Wirt whine for more, just to break Wirt out of his shell. Whenever Wirt makes a cute sound Dipper chuckles to himself under his breath, his laughter brushing against the back of Wirt’s ear.

Dipper wonders if this was going to happen again. Dipper wonders if they would be together longer than a few months. Dipper wonders if they could make it work.

“H-hey Wirt, you, you still okay?” Dipper checks, maybe more to urge the other to speak if anything. Wirt has said nothing for the last few minutes, unless one counts tiny stifled moans and panting as ‘something.’

"Yes, yes," Wirt moans a little louder than he intends, even nodding a few times. Bucking unabashedly now from the increase in pace, he reaches an arm out to hold onto Dipper, needing something to ground him a little.

It’s surreal how overwhelmed Dipper makes him feel. He was always one to succumb to the throes of passion, but this was something beyond that. To him, this isn't just something that makes him feel good; there’s more trust behind it, more raw emotion than the typical exchange.

Or so he hopes. Wirt has no desire to be someone's temporary escape, especially not with Dipper. Somehow, imagining them together in the long term seems so easy, given how natural it felt to be around him. He wonders if Dipper feels the same way.

Handjob aside, he could easily imagine spending the rest of his nights like this, wrapped up in warmth and, dare he use the word, love.

“Is it,” Dipper pauses, a breathy laugh escaping his lips, “good?”

Around Wirt, Dipper feels like he doesn’t need anything in return; he just feels at home with Wirt. He hasn’t felt at home in years, despite claiming the Mystery Shack to be his home. After all, what was a home without friends and family? Dipper has been alone for years, the only familiar faces he knows belonging to people he hasn’t talked to longer than for a few minutes. The exchanges between such folk usually consist of simple hellos and talk about the weather, but nothing beyond that.

Really, he had never felt this way before.

“It’s great,” Wirt laughs, charmed by Dipper’s concern. Turning his torso partially, he stretches to give Dipper a reassuring kiss, missing his lips and instead smooching the tip of his nose. It’s sloppy and awkward, but he hopes his intentions are clear.

Dipper smiles at Wirt, laughing at his blunder with a half-hearted chuckle. As he continues to stroke Wirt, he rolls his hips against his backside and bites his lower lip when the strain in his pants feels like too much to bear. Sweat begins to roll down Dipper’s temples, if only because the comforter was hot and they were making so much friction under it.

“H-hey, Dipper, I’m- ah!” Wirt gasps, unable to finish his sentence as he yelps from a particular stroke. “I think I’m, what’s the word, about to ejacu- wait, wait that’s not what I meant- I mean, it is, but- oh!”

After stumbling for words helplessly, he gives a final thrust, coming into Dipper’s hands and onto the covers, body convulsing pleasantly. He struggles for breath as he comes down, his muscles relaxing after being tensed up like a cord. Rolling onto his side to face Dipper, he bites his lip in an attempt to stop the shy grin spreading on his face.

“Thanks,” he whispers, leaning in to give Dipper a proper kiss. As he pulls away, he strokes carefully down Dipper’s side, fingers stopping hesitantly at the band of his boxers. “T-that felt amazing. Do you want me to, um, return the favor?”

“You can return the favor if you’re up to it, man,” Dipper smiles, his brows furrowing in concern. Wirt looked totally out of it. Yeesh, he wasn’t that good - was he? Maybe Wirt was just totally into it.

“Of course I’m up to it,” Wirt replies as he slowly, teasingly slides his hand down towards the band of Dipper’s boxers.

**Author's Note:**

> Andouilles generally writes Dipper's parts and Alopex generally writes Wirt's parts.


End file.
